The Island
by Moonchild707
Summary: A girl leaves home for the great unknown. A king readies his people for war. A plane crashes in a storm over the mid-Pacific, and a body is found on a beach, not quite alive, but not yet dead. When a girl falls from the sky in a cloud of fire and steel, she must build a new home and make her new life in this land amongst strangers, known only to her as The Island. AH, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Bella had always been a nervous flyer.

Sitting stiffly in the starched, blue seat, Bella waited, her lip between her teeth and her foot tapping a frenetic rhythm on the cabin floor. The roaring of jet engines was like a siren in her ears and though she could almost feel her pulse rushing through her, the noise of the great metal beast drowned out the sound. Her mouth was dry, her spine was stiff, and her hands, clasped in a white-knuckled grip on the metal armrests, were so tight that she knew the sharp edges would leave a mark. The loud _ding_ over the loudspeakers made her jump and she froze in place as the flight attendant began to speak.

" _Attention passengers. The captain has informed us that we are entering an area of high turbulence, and the seatbelt sign has been turned on. Please return to your seats and we will be sure to let you know as soon it's safe to move around again. Thank you."_

"Wow mom!" The small boy next to her, no older than eight, began to bounce. "We're shaking!"

Bella wished he'd stop talking.

"Yes, Jeffrey…" His mother, completely disinterested, flipped another page of her glossy magazine.

"Whoa!" The boy turned towards Bella, peering around her to stare avidly through the window. "Look mom! Clouds!"

"Mmmhmm…" Another flip. "Don't _fidget_ , Jeffrey."

The boy groaned and though he fought to obey, Bella could see his little feet kicking the seat in front of him. He was nearly vibrating with anxious energy.

"But mom, look!" he insisted. "The sun!"

"I know," replied his mother. "We're above the cloud line."

 _Please shut up…_

Bella's stomach turned over when the plane shook again.

"Wheee!" The boy giggled, and his mother gave a sharp sigh.

"Stop it."

"But it's _fun…"_

"There are people on this plane who don't want to listen to your shouting," snapped the mother, finally losing her patience. "Sit down and be quiet, like a good boy."

The child huffed.

"But…"

And all at once, Bella felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

The feeling of falling was not one Bella had ever relished, not even when Jake had forced her onto that massive roller coaster at Six Flags when she was just a kid. She remembered the distinct feeling of weightlessness, the way her body had felt when she had lifted a few inches off of her seat, absolutely certain that at any moment, her restraints would come loose and she would fly… falling, tumbling, and hurtling towards the hard, rocky ground below. She gripped the armrests with a whimper of horror as she lifted slightly again, startled shouts and nervous cries ringing out around her. The boy beside her gave a whoop before the feeling was gone, and once again, Bella was firmly ensconced in her small seat.

"That. Was. A _wesome!"_ the child crowed. "Mom, did you see that?"

His mother looked quite green, much as Bella, herself, felt. The woman reached over with shaking fingers and tightened the belt around her son's waist, glancing anxiously through the window as they hurtled on. Bella could not look out, though she was seated right next to it, as the very thought made her stomach roll over. But she did see, however much she didn't want to, that the light had all but disappeared and they were now floating through the grey mist of overcast clouds. She did not know how far they had dropped, and she did not want to find out…

" _Attention passengers."_ A male voice rang through the cabin and Bella bit her lip. _"This is your captain speaking. My apologies for the bumpy ride, but it would appear that we've hit a storm. Command tells us that we won't be able to move safely around it, so we're rerouting to Honolulu International Airport."_

Angry outbursts and groans filled the cabin.

" _I apologize for the delay. Just as soon as this front clears up, we'll be right back in the air. Thank you for your patience."_

"Goddamn it," snapped the mother. "Now what are we supposed to do?" She stared angrily at her watch, tapping it with a long, red fingernail.

"Hawaii!" the boy chirped. "Surfing, mom!"

His mother rolled her eyes and snapped her magazine open again, scowling.

Bella, her heart in her throat, glanced nervously through the window.

The swirling mass of grey engulfing the plane was broken only by a sudden and striking bolt of blue that shot through the clouds. Bella, though she had been determined not to look, couldn't help herself as a sudden wash of rain went streaming across the small window, the speed of the plane sending the water flying as soon as it hit the metal fuselage. She could not see the ground below—or was it only water?—and for that, she was grateful. She didn't think she could stomach it if she looked outside and saw nothing but the great expanse of turbulent, steely waves…

The plane lurched to the right, and Bella held on for dear life. A baby in the row behind her began to cry. The mother in the aisle seat reached over and grabbed her son's hand, and the boy himself went suddenly white as he wheeled around to face the window.

Bella knew for sure, now, that she would be sick.

"Mama?" The child began to whimper.

"Hush, Jeffrey…"

"But _mama…"_

The plane dropped again and Bella gave a yelp, the sounds of chaos erupting all around her. Women began to scream. Men began to shout. Children—even the little ones, who had no real way of understanding—grew hysterical. Noise echoed through the cabin and Bella, looking desperately about herself, felt her whole body begin to tremble when she saw the flight attendants, stricken with horror, strapping themselves into their fold-down seats. The sudden loss of altitude made the cabin pressure spike, and Bella felt a sharp sting in both ears...

The plane righted itself before it surged. And then it dropped again. And as Bella tried to make sense of what was happening—what _was_ happening?—she saw a sudden flash of light as they sank down through the clouds, hovering between the great, open ocean and the swirling, black chasm of the sky.

Lightning flashed and rain poured down. The plane shuddered. Overhead bins flew open as bags came hurtling down like boulders. Bella saw a man across the aisle struck with a hard, metal suitcase and he slumped down in his seat at once, blood dripping onto his collar. The drinks cart parked at the rear came hurtling down the aisle, slamming into the cockpit door, and somewhere above her, an oxygen mask popped out of its compartment. The screaming, and shouting, and absolute chaos were drowned by the rushing in her ears, and though she could make out the sounds of straining jet engines, she could not fathom what they might mean.

The final drop seemed to take an age.

Reeling with hysterical fear and trembling, tumultuous shock, Bella watched, horror-struck, as the horizontal ocean laid out beneath her went suddenly vertical. She felt herself thrown forward, her forehead slamming into the seat in front of her as she scrambled to regain her bearings, trying to figure out why the laws of gravity had been so suddenly inverted. The seatbelt pulled at her waist as her full weight was thrown onto it, and though her eyes streamed with fright and pain, she knew what she had to do.

She had seen the safety demonstrations.

" _Mayday! Mayday!"_ The crackling voice came over the loudspeakers. " _Brace for impact! Ground control, this is American Airlines Flight 9905, do you copy?! Good God… ARGH!"_

The broadcast cut off all at once and Bella, jerked harshly to the right, felt the plane begin to falter. Rattling, shaking, screaming, crying… the noise meant nothing to her as she clamped her arms around her head, her breath held tightly in her chest.

They were going down.

" _Mayday! Mayday! Brace for impact! Pull_ up, _man!"_

" _Jeffrey!"_

" _Mama!"_

" _Oh God!"_

" _Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee…"_

" _Get your head down!"_

" _Mama!"_

" _Help us!"_

A roaring blast. The wrenching of steel. The screaming of women and the bawling of children, all muffled by the sudden impact that shot through the cabin, sending Bella hurtling into the wall. Ears ringing and lungs empty of air, Bella felt the sudden rush of icy water at her feet and the heat of a blazing inferno that was too close… always too close. The deafening screams of the child beside her. The lifeless form of his mother pinning him to the seat, her blood slicking his hands. The ringing in her ears that threatened to drown it all out, to drag her into the black chasm that was looming over them all. They were going down… down, down, down like a great, flat stone skipping across the waves, and the moment the thought hit her, the water began to rise from her ankles, to her knees…

Her fingers scrabbled at the belt pinning her to the sinking seat before a striking blow landed on the back of her head, and the world went painfully, blissfully dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She could hear her Uncle Charlie.

" _Wake up, kiddo. It's time for school."_

Not yet.

" _Come on…"_ Fingers tickled the back of her neck. _"Wakey wakey, Bells…"_

She was so tired.

" _You're going to be late!"_

Her head throbbed.

" _You want pizza for dinner?"_

She tasted salt.

" _Fall down again, kid?"_

Her back was burning.

" _You remind me so much of your mom…"_

Something wet slid down her cheek.

" _Wake up, Bells."_

But her eyes were so heavy…

The voice went silent, and she could not move.

Drawing in a hoarse, rattling breath that made every muscle in her body ache, Bella groaned feebly and curled her fist around the fine sand beneath her. She was lying face-down—of that, she was sure—and though she could feel the searing heat of the sun beating down on her exposed neck, she could not make herself move. When she clenched her hand, a sharp, splintering pain coursed up her arm like a gunshot, and each small, ragged breath she drew made her ribs flare. The headache beating its rhythm in her skull kept time with her pulse, which fluttered like butterfly wings in her chest. Her mouth felt like cotton and her tongue was dry and cracked, but when she opened her lips to try and speak, to call out, she was met with a mouthful of white sugar sand that made her choke.

Where was she?

Peeling her eyes open, squinting and blinking against the bright, white sun, Bella could see nothing but rolling waves, blue and serene, lapping at the shore some ten feet away. She could hear the wind—a warm, balmy breeze rushing through leaves that she could not see—and the soft calls of birds from some not-so-distant branches. She could see a scuttling crab, its stunted little legs rushing off towards the sea, and she could see seaweed dancing an ethereal waltz on the surface of the water, where the waves met the sky…

Coughs wracked her body and she felt an angry pop in her chest before her lungs seized, and darkness encroached once more.

* * *

A voice she did not recognize broke the silence as Bella came to, her cheek still pressed to the hot sand. Her body felt boneless, as if she had become one with the ground itself, and though she could hear the pounding of feet somewhere near her head, she could not make herself move. A stirring of fear, weak and feeble, rose in her chest, and though she knew she should be wary, she could not muster much more than a whimper.

The voice spoke again, and a hand touched her cheek.

 _"Ne!"_ A deeper voice, harsher and sharper than the one before, barked the word. _"_ _Atentu, Jas, aŭ vi eble damaĝi ŝin."_

" _Ŝi estas vundita!"_ Bella stirred weakly. " _Rigardu ĝin dorso... kaj la sango!"_

" _Moviĝi!"_ snapped the deep voice. Her eyes were not open— they were so heavy and leaden— but as the sharp, foreign word pierced through her, the red glow of the sun behind her eyelids was blotted out, and she saw nothing but black. The searing heat on her face lessened, as if something large and solid blocked the light, and the next hand that touched her was larger, and warmer, than the one before.

" _Mi ne scias ŝian,"_ muttered the voice. _"Ĉu vi konas ŝin?"_

" _Ne..."_

" _Ĉu vi povas aŭdi min, karulo?"_ The word was soft this time, and Bella felt the warm wash of breath on her cheek. She did not understand a word, but the voice did not sound hostile, and so she groaned. Even shallow breaths made her chest pop and flare, and when the stranger, as yet unseen, rested his hand on her cheek, she began to stir.

" _Vi estas bone…"_ said the voice anxiously, and Bella's fingers twitched. _"Ne movas, karulo. Vi estas bone… Jas!"_

More footsteps, and Bella felt the smaller, cool hand return.

" _Helpu min turnas ŝi. Ni devas akiri ŝin el la suno."_

" _Jes…"_

" _Prizorgi la kapo… Ne faligi ŝin."_

Bella's eyes snapped open when she felt the firm, grasping hands at the back of her neck. Her vision was blurred and tears streamed from her eyes, and though she could see the fuzzy outline of a stranger, he was not looking at her. Another set of arms wrapped gently around her torso, and after a few muttered words, she felt herself spinning.

"No…" The movement made her sick as the world passed her by in dizzying stripes. _She was so hot…_ "Please…"

" _Vi estas bone…"_ crooned the voice at her feet. _"Ĉu vi povas diri al mi vian nomon? Kiom longe vi estis en la akvo?"_

Shaking fingers ghosted over her forehead and Bella felt a thrill of pain at the touch. She could not remember why she hurt, but there could be no doubt that she'd done herself some injury when the fingers made her vision glow white and bile rise in her throat.

" _Karulo?"_ The voice at her feet grew anxious when her eyes fluttered shut. _"Ne, karulo, ne dormi."_ His hands clamped down on her ankles and she gave a startled hiss.

" _Mi bedaŭras. Mi bedaŭras… ne dormi."_

"What?" Her voice cracked and the face above hers snapped down. His eyes were blue… so blue… and the edges of her sight began to darken, closing in like pinpricks on those blazing sapphires. She could not hear him. She could barely _see_ him. She could not fathom the look he wore, the frantic panic etched on his young, boyish face as his eyes flittered between her and the other stranger at her feet...

The hands on her ankles tightened again and she felt a pinch on the sole of her foot, but it did not matter. Bella was drifting— drifting far, far away on the warm, balmy breeze blowing through coconut trees, into the deep, cerulean rip whose white-capped waves crested just beyond the place where she had fallen. She did not feel the arms at her back, lifting her worriedly from the sand, or the quaking, tremulous hands at her neck, keeping her head steady. She did not hear the loud shouts of panic, the desperate fingers at her pulse, or the hoofbeats of sprinting horses. She did not hear the boy crying, or the man shouting, or the sound of a woman, speaking unintelligible platitudes to her limp and listless body.

For Bella was floating— spinning, gliding, and dreaming on the clouds above the surf, laughing at the bubbling waves as she tumbled, weightless, across the sky..

 **TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ne!_ _Atentu, Jas, aŭ vi eble damaĝi ŝin._  
No! Be careful, Jas, or you might hurt her.

 _Ŝi estas vundita!_ _Rigardu ĝin dorso... kaj la sango!  
_ She's hurt! Look at her back... and the blood!

 _Moviĝi!_  
Move!

 _Mi ne scias ŝian._ _Ĉu vi konas ŝin?  
_ I do not know her. Do you know her?

 _Ĉu vi povas aŭdi min, karulo?  
_ Can you hear me, darling?

 _Vi estas bone.  
_ You are well.

 _Ne movas.  
_ Do not move.

 _Helpu min turnas ŝi. Ni devas akiri ŝin el la suno.  
_ Help me turn her. We have to get her out of the sun.

 _Jes.  
_ Yes.

 _Prizorgi la kapo… Ne faligi ŝin.  
_ Watch her head. Don't drop her.

 _Ĉu vi povas diri al mi vian nomon? Kiom longe vi estis en la akvo?  
Can you tell me your name? How long have you been in the water?_

 _Ne dormi.  
_ Don't sleep.

 _Mi bedaŭras.  
_ I'm sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The tumultuous echoes of the outraged Council coasted through the room and Edward, seated wearily at the head of the table, held his face in his hands.

"We must act!" cried his treasurer, Mihaelo. "What kind of people are we— what kind of _kingdom_ are we— if we laze about while our enemies prosper?!"

"They are strong, Mihaelo, and we mustn't be rash!"

"We are stronger!"

"What of the women? The children? What of the feeble, who cannot fight, or the elders who have already done their duty by the rest of us?"

"Ah, be quiet, Lorenzo. You know as well as I that our women fight just as viciously as our men. I say if our _enemy's_ women fight like men, then we take them down like men!"

A chorus of protest rang out.

"Surely violence is not the only way. My King, please, see reason…"

"Do not presume to sway him!" Mihaelo rose from the table. "You've done enough whispering in the boy's ear, poisoning him with your liberal nonsense. He hardly knows his own mind as it is! Do not make it worse!"

Edward, feeling a prickle of annoyance, lifted his head and scowled.

"Sit down, Mihaelo," he barked. The man, glaring, turned to face his king. "You've overstepped yourself. Mind to whom you are speaking, and even more importantly, _about_ whom you are speaking, lest you find yourself tossed out for your impudence."

The man's cheeks flushed red and, spitting with rage, he lowered himself mutinously into his seat, the hushed murmurs in his wake betraying the Council's shock. It was rare for Edward to command silence, and even rarer for him to threaten expulsion. That was what the Council liked about their young king— despite his inexperience and his anxious self-doubt, he was a kind man, a _good_ man, who was the measure of both his mother and his father. Edward was smart. Edward was sensible. Edward was fair.

"We cannot, in good conscience, kill innocents," said Lorenzo, pink with pride now that Edward had quashed his opposition. "It is true, my King, that there are many dissenters among them. Dangerous men… _evil_ men…"

The table murmured its agreement.

"But there are also children— little children who know nothing of the sins of their fathers, who would grow up hating _our_ children for what we have done."

The Council bristled.

"We do ourselves no favours and we do our children no justice if we steep another generation in the hatred of war. It is true, Mihaelo," Lorenzo conceded to his adversary with grace, "that some might call it liberal— _foolish_ , even— but if we are to heal from these great wounds, we _must_ begin to reconcile with the few who are willing to hear us."

And after a moment of silence, Lorenzo raised his goblet to his lips to signify a vote, and drank deeply..

Ten of the eleven remaining Councillors— all but Mihaelo— banged their own goblets on the table and drank from the heady, bitter wine, their silent ballots irrefutable in the hush. Edward glanced at Mihaelo, whose surly countenance belied his displeasure and gave a mental sigh, knowing that some way or another, he would have to make amends with the prickly man or only the Gods knew what new mischief he would cause.

Mihaelo was a sour man, as had been his father before him after Edward's own father had refused Mihaelo's sister's hand in marriage over thirty years prior. Mihaelo's family was old and proud, and the memory of this slight had trickled down to the next generation, where it would fester and stew if Edward could not get it under control.

When all twelve Lords looked to him, he cleared his throat and stood.

"So be it," he said, the ceremonial words ringing through the hall. The Council might have voting power, but their will did not become law until Edward deemed it so. It was the King's prerogative to make his own decisions, should his conscience dictate it, though it was rare for any monarch to do so. In living memory, no King of Marolando had ever rejected his Council's advice, even if he disagreed…

"Eleven to twelve," Edward continued. "Your motion of peace and healing has passed. Go forth and spread the word."

And with his dismissal still in the air they scraped the chairs against the stone floor, clinked their goblets against the wooden table, and murmured in hushed, excited voices from the antechamber until Edward was left blissfully alone, his temples throbbing and the bitter taste of reprimand still on his tongue.

He did not like to do it. He did not like to rebuke men as old as his father for speaking to him in ways any elder might his junior. But as King, what choice did he have? Young though he was, he was the Father of the People, the Leader of the Masses. He was the Maker of the Law and the Keeper of the Peace, as had been his father and grandfather before him. He was the figurehead to whom the people turned in their time of need, the one to whom decisions were left and counsel was given. Most of the time, Edward's frustration was kept in check. He listened, as his father had taught him, and exercised patience, as his mother had shown him. He was not hasty. He was not rash. He was not angry, or sullen, or cruel, but when prickly men like Mihaelo insisted on insulting him and offending the order he had created in the wake of his father's untimely death, his temper grew short.

And so Edward sat, irked and frustrated at the head of the long, wooden table, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the armrests as he blew out a breath, trying to fathom just what he'd have to do to appease Mihaelo this time.

Mihaelo had always been headstrong, even in the days of Edward's father, when both men had been strong and spry in their shared youth. He had always been a vocal dissenter, a constant voice of opposition even in the most arbitrary Council sessions, and Edward resented him for it. He hated the way the man would fight, questioning even the simplest of rulings, arguing his case even when he had no hope of success, after he'd been struck down by another frustrated Lord. Men like Mihaelo always pushed until everyone was weary, exhausted by the constant discord that ran taut like a bowstring, connecting them together while at the same time, driving them apart.

Had his twelve Councilmen been appointed experts instead of ordinary citizens elected by their peers, Edward was sure he would have been rid of Mihaelo long ago.

"My King?"

There was a loud, commanding knock on the door.

"Come in, Emmett…" Edward sighed, rubbing his eyes with the butt of his hands. He felt his cheeks pinken at the sound of his title— what right did he have to such an address from his oldest and truest friend?— but all thoughts of embarrassment fled when the man himself strode in, serious and grim.

"You must come," said Emmett. "Quickly."

"What is it?" Edward rose at once. His father's sword— his constant companion ever since it's owner's death— hung from his belt like an anchor, and he gripped its hilt reflexively. "Where is Jasper?"

"He is safe, praise be," said Emmett. "Shaken, but safe…"

Edward felt the colour drain from his face.

"Shaken?" He strode quickly to his friend's side. "Why? What has happened? It's not… _them?"_

"No," Emmett grunted. "Not the Others. At least, I don't think so. No… this is something else."

"Tell me." They rushed from the great hall. "Has he been hurt?"

Edward would never forgive himself— and more importantly, his _parents_ would have never forgiven him— if Jasper came to harm under Edward's supervision.

"He's fine. Not a scratch on him, though it might do him some good to be knocked down and taste the dirt."

"Then what? Do we need to ready the men?"

"No…"

"Emmett." Edward gripped his General's arm to halt him. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Emmett shook his head. "I don't really know."

"What do you mean?"

"I…" Emmett stood tall. "Come. It's best if you see. I wouldn't do it justice..."

"See what?" They began to jog. "Where is it?"

"At your aunt and uncle's house," said Emmett softly. "It was the closest, and we needed a healer…"

"Emmett…"

"Come, brother." Emmett clapped him on the shoulder. "There's no time to waste. As it is, she may not last…"

"She?"

But Emmett was already running, and Edward, hot on his heels, sprinted after.

 **A/N: As per reader requests, I've updated the last chapter with translations of all foreign words. Any chapter with non-English dialogue will be translated at the end of future chapters.**

 **Also, if you're interested, I've created a map of the island to help me keep things straight. I've posted the map on my Weebly site (moonchild707 . weebly . com, navigate to the menu bar at the top, hover over "more..." and select "The Island"). If anyone is curious, the map was made using an app called Procreate (on my iPad), and the text was created using InkPad 2.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Edward arrived at the small, secluded hut at the edge of the jungle, he was surprised to find a small crowd gathered outside.

"We weren't the only ones who saw it fall," said Emmett mysteriously. "People have put the clues together, and when they saw us with her, they knew."

"Saw you with who? What did they know?"

"Come inside and I'll explain."

Edward, growing more irritated with Emmett's evasion by the second, stepped easily through the parting crowd and entered the house, closing the small, wooden door behind him as he did.

What he saw made him freeze.

His uncle, tousled and troubled, knelt by the edge of the fireside cot— the one reserved exclusively for those patients that Carlisle deemed most ill. Edward remembered the many bodies he had seen there after the raids last summer, all bloodied, and beaten, and dying. Beside him hovered his Aunt Esme, who spared him only a fleeting glance from where she knelt by the head of the cot, her back to the fire and her hands buried in the furs. He saw the blonde head of his brother, bent and unmoving, in a chair by the window, but Edward could barely spare him a word before his eyes snapped to the body in the bed, his mouth growing dry.

It was a woman— a small, thin creature, with arms and legs as white as lilies. Sweat slicked her ashen face and dried salt dusted her hair, and Edward would have thought her dead had he not seen the ragged rise and fall of her chest beneath a wrinkled, torn piece of clothing such as he had never seen before. He watched, stricken, as Carlisle used a knife to strip her of it, leaving her bare to the world with only a thin scrap of fabric to bind her breasts. He wanted to look away— he knew he _should_ have looked away— but he was frozen in place, unsettled by the sight of her, so agitated and ill…

For who could have inflicted such injuries upon her, and where, in God's name, had she come from?

From the time he was small, a large portion of Edward's education had been devoted to learning the names and occupations of all the families that made up his kingdom. He knew the millers, who ground grain out in The Rocklands, and the anglers who fished off the northern coast. He knew the farmers and the carpenters, the healers and the builders… every family in his kingdom carried with them the knowledge of some essential trade, and that knowledge was passed on from Father to Son in such a way that Edward knew that neither his people nor his villages would suffer for lack of skilled workers. Marolando might not be perfect— in fact, it was far from it— but Edward knew that none of his people would go hungry or homeless so long as that familial learning was properly passed on.

But this woman— this bruised, and beaten, and broken creature in his Auntie's cot— was as strange and unfamiliar to him as the elusive Gods themselves.

"We found her on the beach," Emmett said as Carlisle continued his work. Edward watched as angry bruises and oozing, festering wounds were revealed by his uncle's tender hands. "Lying in the sand, half-dead…"

"We?" Edward spoke numbly. "Who else was with you?"

Emmett did not answer, but when Edward peeled his eyes away from the broken body, he saw how his General watched the corner, where his little brother sat hunched and tearful. Edward gave a start— he had almost forgotten about the boy in all the chaos— and a rush of guilt struck him hard when he saw the child wipe his eyes on his sleeve, his eyes rimmed red from crying.

"Jas," Edward sighed, sounding as exhausted as he felt. "Come here."

And he did. Teenage bravado forgotten and pompous arrogance left at the door, Jasper came to him, unsteady and sniffling as his brother held out a hand. Edward knew that the last year had been tough on him. Edward himself had not quite come to terms with the loss of their parents, but he knew that this upheaval had wreaked havoc in his brother's young life. Jasper was not old enough to understand— not really— and that only made it worse. Edward had known the risks. He had understood the chance his mother and father had readily taken when they'd snuck away in the night, desperate for a peace that they would never come to know. Edward knew that his father had not expected to emerge victorious, had watched as his mother had kissed her sleeping boy over and over again until she could stand it no longer and wept, bitter, broken sobs, telling him that she loved him, and that she would miss him…

But Jasper, slumbering and peaceful, had not heard her, and thus, he did not know. And their loss had made the boy angry. He had always been a sweet child, 13 years Edward's junior, but that sudden shift in power had made his only brother taciturn and hostile. He hid his hurt behind his arrogance, and that new, pompous hubris was so grating that Edward sometimes wondered if the boy had any sense at all.

But even so, when the shaking fingers clutched his, desperate for some sort of comfort, Edward gave it readily, letting the boy wrap an awkward, gangly arm around his waist in a half-hug.

"I thought she'd die," he said, the sounds muffled in Edward's sleeve. "I thought she'd be gone before we got her here…"

Edward noted, with a hint of surprised pity, that the thought seemed to terrify the boy. That spark of humility— the admittance of fear that Edward knew Jasper would interpret as weakness— shocked him, and as Edward caught a glimpse of the sweet, sensitive child he had known not so long ago, he gave his brother an affectionate, reflexive squeeze.

"She might very well have." Carlisle spoke sharply. "I don't know what kind of beast could inflict injuries such as these, but I tell you, Edward, if this was a man's doing, then he'd best be hanged."

Edward, shocked, did not know what to say. His uncle was the very definition of pacifism— no violence, no conflict, and always full of maddening compromise…

"She'll live," said Esme quietly, speaking for the first time. "I promise you that, Carlisle. This child will live. If I have to sit with her day and night to keep her well, then so be it."

"She is no child," Carlisle replied. "She is a woman grown, though _where_ exactly she did that growing, I cannot say. Perhaps…"

Carlisle grimaced as he gazed through the western window, his eyes locking on the distant mountains that shielded them from the hostile _Alia_ … the Others. Edward had seen more than enough of what they did to fleeing refugees who tried to escape them…

"She did not come from the rocks, Carlisle," said Emmett softly. _"La princo_ and I saw, didn't we, Jas?"

Jasper, still sniffling, gave a soft nod.

"It's true," he said, and Edward was surprised to see those familiar blue eyes peering beseechingly into his own. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"Saw what?" asked Edward. The boy looked terrified.

"I…" The boy grew agitated. "It's _mad,_ Ed..."

"Tell me," insisted Edward. "We must know, for her own safety, if nothing else."

Edward could tell it was as hard for Jasper to speak as it was for Edward to listen. How often had the two clashed over the past year, with Edward thrust into the role of parent to a grieving 12-year-old, and Jasper, bitter over his brother's authority as he tried to repress that desperate, yearning ache for lost family? Edward resented his brother's freedom— how often had he been forced to sit, stoic and regal, while the boy ran wild in the jungle? While Edward was the face of leadership— a task to which he knew he was not equal— his brother was as free as a bird.

But with that freedom came a loss. Gone was the sweetness, the gaiety of boyhood that had been his way, and in came the discord, the sullenness, and the anger…

"I…" Jasper worried his lip. In the cot, the girl gave a muffled cry, which forced Carlisle to jerk his hands away with a hiss.

"It might be important." Edward knelt to look him in the eye. "What did you see?"

"Fire," said Jasper finally. "I… _we_ saw fire."

Emmett nodded his assent, and Edward's blood ran cold.

"Where?"

 _If the jungle was burning…_ Gods above. If the jungle was burning, no one was safe. Not a single man, woman, or child… The villages would fall. Their grain would turn to ash. The wild beasts in the trees would escape to the refuge of civilization, and the very air they breathed would turn sour and toxic...

"In the sky," Jasper said, and Edward was jerked roughly back to the present. The look of shock on his face must have shown, because at once, Jasper backtracked. Edward saw the irrational rage— that hot-headed temper that was so quick to rise in him— and fought to bite his tongue.

"I told you it was mad!" Jasper's voice rose in pitch. "I _knew_ you'd think I was a liar… you _always_ think I'm lying!"

The child was not wrong, but Edward shushed him quickly.

"Hush," said Edward, wiping a tear from his dusty face. "I believe you. What happened after?"

He calmed, with only a little suspicion.

"We…" Jasper wiped his persistently wet cheeks on his sleeve. "We saw…" He struggled to find words and Emmett, showing him a rare mercy, spoke up.

"It crashed, whatever it was," said Emmett, and Jasper seemed to sag in relief. No longer put on the spot, he retreated back into the shadows, though his fingers still clung to Edward's tunic with white-knuckled worry.

"The fire fell into the sea, about three leagues out." Emmett gestured vaguely south. "I have no idea what it was… nothing like anything we've ever seen before."

Edward sighed. In her bed of blood, the girl began to twitch and Carlisle cursed.

"It gave a mighty bang," Emmett continued, "and smoke rose high into the air, but we could see no detail in the rain, and nothing seemed to come of it. So _la princo_ and I, we camped. Just as we said we would, in the exact same place as always. But when we woke in the morning…"

"The smoke was gone," said Jasper. "And there was just… nothing."

"Nothing?" Edward felt his chest tighten as he watched Carlisle turn the girl onto her side, her whole body convulsing…

"Nothing," confirmed Emmett. "But when we got to the beach…"

Edward bit the inside of his cheek. It had been _he_ who had insisted that Emmett take Jasper with him on his weekly patrol, to show the boy just what it was that Edward worked so hard to preserve. He had known, even then, that the boy was too young. He had hoped it would teach him discipline. Emmett would have never led Jasper into danger, would have never let him come to harm, but Edward knew better than most just how common it was to find a corpse along the beaches at the southern shore. The currents were strong, and many— _too_ many— had thrown themselves from the high, grey cliffs on the western side of the Bay of Tears to escape the horrors they'd suffered under enemy rule.

" _She_ was there," supplied Jasper, his gaze glued on his brother's. "Emmett thought she was dead. He called her a _jumper…"_

The word seemed to confuse him, but when neither adult gave any hint of explanation, he moved on.

"But I saw her move," he finished, his eyes flickering to the still-ashen, but finally still, face of the mystery girl. Edward saw that the fit had finished and she lay still, eerily so, as Carlisle pinched her foot and tweaked her fingers, trying to elicit some response— _any_ response— from her limp and lifeless body.

It was only when Edward saw the moist fog on the silver spoon Esme held to her cracked and swollen lips as evidence of breath that he sighed with relief, glad that for now, at least, that death was kept at bay.

Emmett cleared his throat and went on.

"And so we got her— she spoke to us, though we could not understand her— and she fainted as we got her on the horse. We rode hard, Edward— I think I'll have to give that poor beast a rest to compensate— but she never woke. We got her here and…"

He glanced plaintively at Carlisle, who gave a deep, troubled sigh.

"Here she is," he murmured. Edward watched as he sat back on his haunches, mopping his brow with a shaking, tired hand. "And all the worse for it."

"Will she live?" Jasper piped up, and Edward watched as his uncle's eyes grew sad. Carlisle often grew sad at the sight of suffering.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "All I know for sure is that she's alive _now_ , and that's worth something."

The boy worried his lip.

"But we will do our best," he continued. "We will _always_ do our best."

Edward watched, troubled, as the ghost of a frown crept across his brother's face. The boy had seen too much. The boy had _felt_ too much. He knew too much, and yet at the same time, he knew too little, and did not understand. In that moment, Edward would have given _anything—_ his crown, his home, his heart— just so long as that pained, vulnerable brightness in his brother's eyes went with it.

"Your best is not always enough," said Jasper finally, and Edward's heart clenched. The boy glared at Carlisle with vehement accusation. "Sometimes, it's not even _close."_

"Jasper…" But Edward's reprimand held no weight. Carlisle _had_ done his best. He had done everything he possibly could to revive those still and pale corpses, borne back home on a wild stallion through that western mountain pass…

But without another word, Jasper fled from the room. He ran away from Edward's hesitant, offering arms, past Carlisle's sad countenance, and through Esme's quiet, plaintive embrace, to escape into the wild, where he bolted into the trees.

 **Translations:**

 _La Princo  
_ The Prince


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **A/N: Please see my note at the end. It might not apply to you, but I think it still needs to be said.**

"My King! My King!"

A small parcel, wrapped in burlap and twine, was pressed into Edward's palm. Emmett confiscated it at once.

"Praise be!"

Fingers grasped his hand.

"Blessings for the Goddess!"

A child's lips on his wrist.

"This is madness, Edward." Emmett growled his displeasure. "What in all hell…"

"I know." The pair sidestepped a prostrate woman, her hands clasped beseechingly before her as she stared up at him with abject adoration. "I know…"

"Step aside and let your king pass!" Emmett's booming bass rang over the multitude of heads. "Stand aside!"

The crowd shifted, but did not part long enough to let him through.

"Gods above…" Emmett grit his teeth. Edward saw his hand twitch for his sword and though he knew that Emmett would never be rash enough to use it on a group of innocents, the motion made him uneasy nonetheless.

"Please, my Lord, please…" An old woman, wizened and frail, held out a knobbly, arthritic hand to him. "Please… carry my offering to the Goddess and beg her blessings…"

Another parcel, this time smelling of thyme and sage, was pressed on him.

"I…" Edward did not know what to say. "I will carry it forth. But please, madam, step aside. We must pass."

"Yes, My King. Yes. Of course…"

And she hobbled off, only to be replaced by another pilgrim, pressing yet another package onto him with another plea for good fortune.

"Stand aside!" Emmett blocked the rushing bodies of four young women, all holding their hands up in desperate appeal. "Your King commands it!"

Reluctant, yet still hopeful faces shifted again and Edward, reaching around to grab the reins of his horse, swung himself up high above the crowd and began to move.

"Ed…" Emmett warned, scowling at the sight of him. Emmett did not like it— it was his job to protect Edward, to guard him from anyone or anything that would seek to do him harm, and it made his job infinitely more difficult when his charge insisted on rising so high above the others, a sitting duck just waiting for a properly poised spear or arrow.

"We need to move, Emmett, and we don't have time to waste. Carlisle has called, and I fear…"

Emmett, still unhappy, swung up onto his own mount and began to canter.

What Edward feared need not be said aloud. It was the same fear that weighed on everyone's minds, washing over them like a plague of sickness. It was the same fear that drove the Maronese people to flock to the healer's hut like ants to sugar, to swarm like buzzards in thick throngs that blocked the road. It was this fear that drove their desperate pleas, their begging hands, and their open worry, for if what they believed was true, then surely, all was not well.

For what kind of world did they live in where a Goddess— one of that mysterious, holy order that they'd only heard about in stories— could fall from the heavens to meet her doom on the sand, so far from her kin?

Edward did not know what to think— he had seen the girl for himself, but he was one of the very few who had. He'd seen her flesh, as supple and tangible as theirs, her body, wracked with sickness and pain, and her decline, as ugly and bitter as any that had come before it, or any that would come after. Death, after all, was not a pretty business, and as far as Edward was concerned, it was all the worse when it was dragged out and prolonged.

But while she continued to sicken and fade, Carlisle was still not sure that she _would_ die, and so the mercy of death was kept at bay until the fates decided her path, one way or another.

His people thought the girl divine. They thought her the daughter of a God— perhaps a beloved child of the great creator himself, whose laughter rang in the trickling rain and whose ire was felt in thunder and wind. Perhaps this was _Tagiĝo_ , the goddess of the morn, or _Stelina,_ the goddess of the nighttime sky. Maybe she was _Florino,_ goddess of crops and harvest, or even _Verina,_ keeper of truth and memory…

Each person you asked told a different version of the story, and each was as wild and fanciful as the next.

And it seemed that rumor had spread like wildfire. While the knowledge of her sudden and abrupt arrival was, at first, confined only to the royal family and those closest to them, word had spread until every man, woman, and child in the capital knew. Before long, even Edward's most outlying citizens, from the water watchers on the northern shore to the apiarists in the east, knew that a woman had arrived— a strange woman, unlike anything ever seen on the island before. The woman had fallen like a fabled meteor from the heavens above. Her skin had been burned red by the fiery sun, but underneath, it was as pale as the coveted sugar sand on the island's south shore. The girl slumbered like some creature out of myth. She did not speak. She did not wake.

And most concerningly of all, she was dying, alone and without her kin, in the healer's hut in the heart of the jungle.

Edward was at his wits' end.

"Go ahead of me," Emmett barked, drawing Edward out of his thoughts. "I'll keep the crowd at bay. Carlisle's hut is just up ahead…"

"Thank you, Emmett," said Edward, grateful, not for the first time, for his friend's dedication and concern. "I'll let you know if there's any news."

But Emmett was not listening, sitting tall and proud in his saddle, his great horse blocking the path of rushing bodies and plaintive, desperate voices.

"You're here." Edward heard his uncle before he saw him.

Carlisle stood by the gate— a pretty, wooden thing that Esme had spent much of her bridal days carving with a mallet and chisel. Edward had always admired it— engraved there was the history of his people, as far back as anyone knew it, laid out in etched pictograms as beautiful and rare as a fine painting.

But Carlisle's hands blocked the scene he sought— that divine story of the Laughing God pulling the island from the depths of the salty sea.

"We need to talk," he said. "Please, come inside."

Edward, ever obedient, did as he was bid.

Despite the heat of the day, Edward found that the inside of Carlisle and Esme's home was surprisingly cool and dark. The fire in the grate had been reduced to smouldering embers, the merest ghost of a flame still licking the largest, densest log at its core. The air smelled of rose oil and poppies, and Edward spied a tincture of the latter in a bowl by the hearth. The voices from outside could still be heard from the doorway where Edward stood, but there was something about the dark, cozy home that felt serene, and once the door was closed, Edward found that the tense anxiety brought on by the crowds melted away.

His Aunt Esme, who had looked up worriedly when he came in, stood sentry by the cot, her legs folded on a plump, grey cushion as her fingers ran through the damp hair of the girl beside her. There was a bowl and cloth by Esme's knee, and Edward could see the damp moisture pooling on the girl's arms before Esme retrieved a soft, linen towel, and dabbed gently at her pale skin.

"She's decent, Edward. You can come in." Edward, not realizing that he was still standing on the threshold, stepped carefully inside. The door latched behind him. "I just gave her a quick wash…"

The bowl of tepid water lay forgotten as Esme reached beneath the furs once more, producing the girl's purple, swollen wrist and a stack of bandages from a basket by her feet.

The girl didn't flinch, nor did she cry out, when Esme began to re-splint her fractured wrist, binding it to a thin, wooden plank supplied by Carlisle.

"Is she…" Edward spoke hesitantly, as if the very mention of death might bring it forth. "Is she well?"

"As well as she can be," said Esme. "Thank you for visiting."

"I like to," said Edward. "She's become quite the sensation."

"So I've heard." Esme pursed her lips as she tucked the wrapped arm under the furs. "With all of that hooting and hollering, I'm surprised no one's woken her."

Carlisle heaved a sigh.

"You forget, my darling, that this is no common slumber…"

"No, I do not forget," Esme snipped. "Thank you, Carlisle."

Edward's uncle bit his lip, shuffling his feet in the dirt. There was something about his aunt's annoyance, though it was not directed at him, that brought Edward back in time. It turned him into a ten year old boy again with mud on his cheeks and dirty fingernails before dinner, and he could almost hear a reprimand for his carelessness in her sharp barb.

Carlisle, looking tired and worn, beckoned Edward silently towards the back room. It served as Carlisle's storeroom, where he kept all the herbs and medicines he needed to tend to the people of the island. He had chamomile to ease anxious nerves, echinacea for summer colds, feverfew for headaches, and lavender for wound care. Vials of alcohol took up residence on a high-reaching shelf, in tones ranging from brown to clear, each one stoppered with a cork and bearing a peeling, inked label. Aloe vera, green and plump, grew in pots by the wide window to soak up the afternoon sun, and sprigs of peppermint grew in clay basins to ease indigestion and stomach pain. On the highest shelf, far out of reach, Edward saw the telltale red of poppy petals, and hidden far back in the darkest corner was a milky-white jar of its essence, powerful and potent.

When Edward stepped inside and the door closed behind him, he was immediately met with the aromatic perfume of a blooming plumeria, which only just covered the musty scent of the soil in which it grew.

"Your aunt is…" began Carlisle, "disturbed."

"What do you mean?" Edward leaned back against a counter, careful not to disturb anything. Carlisle frowned and began to tinker with an aloe plant, gently snipping off great, fat leaves with the knife he carried at his waist. He said nothing as he piled them on the counter, checking the slimy, gelatinous insides for quality.

"I mean…" he began to squeeze the leaves, and Edward watched the gel collect into a small, wooden bowl. "She's been upset."

"By whom?" Esme was well-liked and even better-loved, and Edward could not imagine who might have slighted her. Furthermore, Esme had thick skin, and there was little that could rattle her…

"Who do you think?" complained Carlisle, his eyes darting anxiously towards the door. "The girl. The _girl_ has disturbed her."

"Ah." _Aunt Esme, and the rest of the island, it seemed._

"She's grown… attached." The word seemed strained. _"Too_ attached, and I fear…"

"Esme knows the risks," said Edward, careful to keep his voice gentle. There had been too much loss for his aunt already… enough heartache and tears to last a lifetime.

"Esme rises and falls like the evening tide," said Carlisle sharply, though without even a hint of admonition. "She always has, and I expect she always will."

"I know." Edward's own mother, Esme's sister, had been much the same.

From out in the main room, Edward heard his aunt begin to sing— a soft, sweet lullaby that Edward had heard often enough from his own mother in his youth.

The sound made Carlisle frown.

"Don't misunderstand me…" Edward snapped back to attention. "It's not that the girl is undeserving of her affection. In fact, I expect that if she lives, she will be in dire need of it."

Edward listened patiently.

"But I don't know that she will." He squeezed another aloe leaf. "Esme is too…"

"I understand," said Edward softly. "I do…"

"No." Carlisle laughed, sardonic and hard. "No, you don't. You couldn't possibly."

And when Edward, peeking through a gap in the wood, saw his aunt bent over the still and pale face, he knew that his uncle was right. Edward did not remember much of his aunt's sorrow— that deep, soul-crushing ache that had taken over her every time she had held one of those little, white corpses in her arms, praying to every god she knew to give it life. He had heard the tales, of course— the stories of the healer's wife, always pregnant but never a mother— and he thought that if he looked at her closely enough now, he would see it again. This desperate yearning for life that seemed to emanate from within her, so hopeful and anticipatory, was the same as that which had come crashing down around her two decades prior. Carlisle feared that the girl would become nothing more than another barb to wound her, a painful memory who would leave his wife with nothing but another flower to plant alongside the blooming rosebushes she'd placed on each tiny grave in the garden.

"When she looks at that girl, I know she sees them," said Carlisle, pressing the final drops of aloe into the bowl. "Our own dead. I see them too, but those memories hurt her in ways they could never hurt me. If that girl does not live…"

He did not need to finish his thought.

"Esme seems certain that she will," reasoned Edward. "There's been no turn for the worst, at least…"

"No," agreed Carlisle, "but even so. She's not yet woken, and that's troublesome enough on its own. It's true that she may live, but I can't say for sure that she will ever wake. A person can linger quite a while in sleep and I know the truth, even if Esme is bound and determined to refute it."

"What truth?" Edward prompted gently. Carlisle met his gaze with an unspeakable sadness that made Edward pause, any further queries dying on his tongue.

"That sometimes," said Carlisle, "if we cannot fix someone, it is kinder to let them go. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is ease their way. Some say that it is not a healer's place to herald death, but the way I see it, it _is_ a healer's job to ease suffering. Suffering with a purpose is one thing— the mending of broken bones or the fusion of torn flesh can often bring pain and tears, but in the end, they do good. Even slumber can sometimes be restorative— sometimes a body needs rest to heal, and time to come back to the world again. But there are other times— and I fear that this may be one of them— when a person is beyond our humble skill and knowledge. There are times, even when we do all we can to bring them back, that they are simply lost, without hope of return or reconciliation. It's during times like these when we cannot let suffering endure. When there is no hope to be had and no chance of a waking life, we _must_ fulfill our duty to end suffering. Oftentimes, a good, strong dose of poppy extract is more than enough to do it…"

The thought made Edward sad and he glanced anxiously into the main room of the hut, where his aunt still sat, bent over the immobile figure in the bed. Edward knew without a doubt that Esme would never let her husband do it— if it came time to administer that blessed mercy, Esme would fight. She would rail, and cry, and scream herself hoarse, all in the name of love for a silent girl who might never have the chance to speak.

"Our babies, though they never drew breath, still weigh heavily on her." Carlisle suddenly looked older than his forty five years. "And that girl in the cot, well…" He chuckled, peeking through the gap. "She'd be about the right age."

Edward supposed this was true. He had been only a small boy when the first of Esme's children— a tiny, blue-eyed girl— had faded.

"And so," Carlisle stirred the aloe with a few drops of lavender oil. "I must ask a favour of you."

"I see."

"I need you to take her," said Carlisle, dipping his thumb into the fragrant concoction and rubbing it experimentally between his fingers. "I need you to take her up to the castle and put her in a good, clean bed where she won't come to harm."

"I'd never get her through the crowd, Carlisle" said Edward ruefully. "They're everywhere. And I fear what they might do if they see her."

"They'll thin out once darkness falls," said his uncle sensibly. "They always do. I'd never ask you unless I felt I had to, Edward. For your aunt's sake. If that girl dies, it'll ruin her. Take her now, before it's too late. She's already grown too fond."

And as Edward watched his aunt through the gap, still fussing and fretting, he saw the truth in his uncle's words. His aunt was a good woman, a _kind_ woman through and through. She was a giving soul, selfless and true, but for what she'd gained in generosity, she lacked in self-preservation.

For Edward could see the circles beneath her eyes and the bony shadows of her collarbones on her chest. He saw the way her fingers trembled as she mopped the pale and clammy brow, and how her dress hung looser than before, as if she hadn't been eating…

"I'll be up to tend her as usual," said Carlisle softly. "Day and night, if need be, and I don't doubt that Esme will come too. But at the end of the day…"

He peered through the gap at her as she fussed with the furs in the cot.

"I need my wife to come home. I need her to rest, and sleep, and eat a good meal without worrying over that poor creature."

Edward released his breath, a feeling of grim determination in his chest, and gave his uncle a short nod.

He did not know how he would do it, or how he would break the news to his aunt, but he knew, despite his hesitance, that he could not refuse his uncle this simple request. Not Carlisle, who had done so much for him in his young life, who had sacrificed so much time and patience to offer advice and wisdom. His uncle had been an unexpected and invaluable asset since Edward's ascension, and had he not offered his guidance, the Kingdom would be all the worse for it.

"As you wish," he said, quiet and solemn in his decision. "Is that all?"

"Yes," said Carlisle finally, after a long moment of surveyance. "That is all. I thank you, Edward. I know that as healer, it's my job to keep her here, but…"

"I understand." And he did. Carlisle was the best healer this island had ever seen, but even _he_ could not be expected to sacrifice his family for the sake of a stranger. The girl needed him, that much was certain, but Edward could not fault him for wanting to protect his wife.

For if Edward had a wife, he was sure that he would do the same.

"Do you hear what they're saying about her?" Edward asked quietly as Carlisle opened the door to the storeroom. Esme paid no mind to their reappearance and Edward watched her as she sat, her fingers rolling carefully over the girl's cheeks while she told her the story of creation. "The people outside?"

"Yes." Carlisle pursed his lips, and Esme, curious, glanced up. "And what a load of nonsense."

Edward said nothing.

"This child is no more divine than you or I," he said. Edward watched as he knelt by the bed, interrupting Esme's storytelling, and rolled the girl onto her side. He pulled down the brown, cotton dress at her shoulder, exposing the still-blistered, but healing, sunburn. "These wounds should prove that, if nothing else…"

His uncle began to slather aloe gel onto the burn with careful fingers. The girl did not stir.

"What do they say about her?" asked Esme, and Carlisle glanced up.

"They say that she is a God," he replied idly, "fallen from the sky in a hail of fire. They say she is the daughter of the creator, and that she has come to us in our time of need…"

"What need?" Esme complained, stroking the girl's cheek. "We're prosperous and healthy…"

"The west grows restless," said Carlisle. "The people think…"

"Oh, _bah!"_ Esme dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I'll hear no more talk of the west. Those treasonous heathens would do better to stay in that wasteland, away from civilized folk as they have been doing for nigh on fifty years."

Edward was surprised, and slightly taken aback, by such a response from Esme, who was always gentle and calm.

"Nevertheless," continued Carlisle, "Edward has agreed to do us a service."

And at once, Edward saw his aunt stiffen. Her spine straightened and her lips pursed, and she stared, narrow-eyed, at her husband who, for his part, remained placidly at ease.

"He's agreed to take the girl up to the castle," he said. "It'll be better for her there, away from the crowds gathering on the road."

Esme stared at him and Carlisle met that stare for only a moment before he turned back to the girl's burned shoulders.

"She'll be well cared for," he continued, and Edward heard the hesitation in his voice. "I'll be up as often as ever, making sure she's safe…"

"Save your excuses," said Esme finally. Edward would have had to have been deaf to miss her stinging, icy coldness. "I know _exactly_ what you're doing."

"Do you?" Carlisle rose to his feet, taking the empty aloe bowl with him. "Pray, do tell."

And at once, his aunt rose like an angry viper, her eyes flashing and her lip curling. She stretched to meet him and though her head barely brushed his shoulder, the ferocity with which she glared made up for any lack of height.

"I am not a child!" she shouted, and Edward retreated politely into the shadows. It was not seemly to eavesdrop on another couple's argument, much less a couple old enough to be his parents. "I am not a _pet_ for you to coddle and keep!"

"I do not want to coddle you."

"But you do!" Esme gave a bark of frigid, hysterical laughter. "You do! Always, I see you, watching and waiting… do you not trust me at all?"

Edward turned to face the window.

"You know that I do…"

"Then do me the courtesy of telling the truth!" Esme snapped, and from the corner of his eye, Edward saw his uncle bow his head.

"I do tell the truth…" But even Edward heard the hesitation. "I am not lying to you, my beauty…"

"Don't. _Don't_ , Carlisle. You insult me, and you insult yourself with such platitudes."

Carlisle growled.

"It is not a crime to worry," he said, straining to keep his voice steady. "I will not apologize for that, Esme. Not now, and not ever."

Esme snorted, but Carlisle spoke over her.

"The girl is ill, and she is weak, and she may yet die…"

"She won't."

"She _might,"_ Carlisle said again. "It does no good to deny it… she is very ill. And it'll do neither she nor you any good if you sicken yourself worrying over her."

" _Someone_ should," said Esme, and when Edward turned, he was surprised to see a shining, wet tear on her cheek. "Someone _should_ be sick with worry, Carlisle. Someone probably _is._ Wherever her people are, wherever her _family_ is, there has to be someone out there missing her, and wondering what's become of her. What if she was ours? What if she was our baby, lost and alone among strangers? Wouldn't you want someone to care for her… to _love_ her?"

Carlisle's face pinched.

"Yes," he admitted finally. "But you forget…"

"I do _not_ forget! How could I? I _know_ she's not ours… not _mine."_ Tears fell in earnest now. "How could she be?"

Esme's head turned, almost reflexively, towards the high window, through which Edward could see only the tip of a pink rosebud in the waxing sun. Carlisle stared steadfastly at his wife and though Edward could not quite discern what emotions he saw written there, the downturned corners of his mouth belied a little of his sadness. That tiny grave— one of many— weighed heavily on the both of them like an anchor.

"But _someone_ should love her," Esme repeated again, dabbing her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve. _"Someone_ should care that she's here, that's she's alone…"

"Aye," agreed Carlisle, taking a careful step forwards with an offering hand held out. "Aye, _someone_ should. But that someone doesn't always have to be _you_ , Esme."

And when her face pinched again, her eyes fixed pleadingly on the unknowing, slumbering girl, she allowed Carlisle to pull her into a tight, strong embrace.

"I _am_ sorry," he heard Carlisle whisper. "Truly, I am. I do not want to upset you, or insult you…"

Esme sniffled.

"But I must look after you, first."

Esme opened her mouth to protest.

"No," said Carlisle, "that's the plain and simple truth. You are my wife, my _family_ , and I must do what's right by you before all others."

Edward recognized that duty at once as one from the traditional Maronese wedding vows— the very same ones that Carlisle and Esme must have spoken to each other decades ago, when they were both still young and without sorrow.

"I _am_ well…"

"Yes," agreed Carlisle. "For now. But what kind of husband— what kind of _man—_ would I be if I let you fade right before my very eyes? And all for something that I could prevent?"

Esme sighed.

"When will you take her?" she asked, and Edward saw her gaze fixed on him, instead.

"As soon as Uncle asks," said Edward quietly. "Don't worry over her, Esme. She will be well cared for."

"I don't doubt it." She wiped her eyes again. "And I'll be up during the day…"

She glanced suspiciously at her husband, as if _daring_ him to contradict her.

"As will I," was all he said.

"You'll need to find her an attendant," said Esme softly. "I sit with her at night, just in case, but once she leaves here…"

"It will be done," Edward vowed. "Anything you ask, Auntie… she will be looked after."

And Esme, seeming at least somewhat satisfied by this answer, sunk back down beside the cot as her righteous anger drained away.

The girl slept on.

 **A/N: Thank you all for being such wonderful readers. I appreciate all your feedback and love for this new story. I'm happy to give you this chapter early, as I'm well ahead of schedule and have no reason to keep it from you.**

 **But: there is another reason you're getting this chapter earlier than expected. This morning, when I checked my email, I found a scathing, nasty review left by a guest reviewer on one of my stories "Under Construction"—** _ **A Diamond in the Rough, Part 2**_ **. It has since been removed via review moderation, but if you'd like to see a screenshot of it, you can find it on my twitter page (Moonchild_707)** _ **.**_ **Now, I don't normally respond to critics who have nothing constructive to offer, but this one made me a little angry. And as I was given no username or profile to use to respond to this person, I've been left with only two choices: 1) don't respond at all, or 2) respond publicly.**

 **Evidently, I've chosen the latter.**

 **I don't think some people realize how much work it takes to write, revise, rewrite, and fine-tune a story on a scale as large as a 4-part series like** _ **A Diamond in the Rough**_ **. Calling me a "fucking lazy ass bitch" for not updating at a rate that suits and pleases YOU is erroneous and, quite frankly, uncalled for. As much as I love writing new stories and fixing up my old ones, there are other, more important issues that often get in my way. Like an average adult human, I have work and family responsibilities to tend to before I can take time to sit down and write. And, if you're a writer yourself, then you know how hard it can be to get your ideas down on paper in a way that is coherent, meaningful, and deliberate, rather than jumbled, hasty, and rushed. Stories need pacing. They need clear direction. They need planning, and thought, and discipline, or else everything ends up a big, tangled mess.**

 **I assume that you, like myself, want a decent quality product when I DO eventually decide to release it.**

 **I also have a sneaking suspicion that the person who wrote this is frustrated by the fact that while** _ **A Diamond in the Rough**_ **waits in the wings, I've released a number of new stories in the interim. Now, I can't speak for anyone else, but my creative process does not allow me to simply focus on one narrative at a time. Sometimes, for the sake of the story, I need to take a step back and reassess, and I often use that break to develop other plot bunnies and story ideas that are bouncing around in my head.**

 **Simply put— sometimes, when you're writing, you feel distracted by other ideas and the best way to get those ideas out of the way is to develop them on paper before you return to your original work. Now, I might be wrong, but I assumed that maybe someone (even if it's only ONE person), might enjoy reading those new plot bunnies (** _ **Invictus, Beneath the Old Oak Tree,**_ **and** _ **The Island,**_ **etc.** _ **)**_ **, so I put them out there for public consumption.**

 **But there is a point about this process that I can't stress enough— the creation of new stories does NOT take away from the continuation of old ones. I'm not taking time away from** _ **Invictus**_ **to work on** _ **Beneath the Old Oak Tree,**_ **nor am I taking time away from** _ **A Diamond in the Rough**_ **to work on** _ **The Island.**_ **All of my stories are distinct and separate entities, and each has its own demands and challenges. Sometimes, those challenges frustrate me, and if I choose not to take a step back, the end product is messy, rushed, and not nearly as good as it might have been (see the ending of** _ **Dark Waltz**_ **for an example of this— I've learned since then). So when I write more than one story at a time, it's not an "either-or" situation— even if I didn't work on something new during my break from** _ **A Diamond in the Rough**_ **, there would STILL not be anything for** _ **Part 2**_ **until the writer's block eases, and I can think of a way to make it as close to ideal as possible.**

 **And finally, how DARE you accuse me of not caring? These stories have been with me since childhood. The first edition of Part 1 was published on this site when I was just a freshman in high school, with no writing experience and even less writing prowess. I know it's only fan fiction written for a select few readers in a huge fandom, but these stories mean more to me, both as a person and a writer, than they ever could to you. You read them because they're fun, or striking, or interesting. I write them because they mean something to me. I write them as a testament to my own growth as a writer. I write them for that grown-up little girl, whose own life was shadowed in those early chapters of Part 1, and for all of those internet readers out there who feel like they've found a little piece of themselves in her. I do NOT write them for your enjoyment or convenience, because as far as I'm concerned, they serve a much greater purpose to those who love them most. And those people who really DO love them most understand the wait, because they know how important it is for both of us— for me as the author, and for "Bella" as the muse— to get it right.**

 **I hope that next time, if you choose to comment in such a way on any of my work again, you'll be brave enough to let me write you back. I don't know if you'll read this, or if you'd even care, but it needed to be said. I don't know if you're a writer yourself or if you've ever tried to create something meaningful, but I hope that someday, you can find some morsel of empathy for those of us who, despite our best efforts, struggle to make everything come together like it should. If you're not a writer, you have no way of understanding, and no business critiquing.**

 **And if you are one, then shame on you.**

 **Also, you'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.**

 **The story WILL be updated just as soon as I find a way to make it great.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dawn crested, bright and blue, over the Bay of Tides in the east, where the cliffs touched the sea. The new sun danced a jig on the surface of the water, sparkling and brilliant as if it were happy— ever so happy— to welcome the new day. It moved like the fluttering, hopping wings of a hummingbird, darting here and there and everywhere before the whole waving surface was engulfed in white, its face blazing like a beacon in the dark. Edward admired the way it moved— the way it swayed and rippled as the sun crested over the seamless horizon— until Carlisle gave him a careful nod, and they were forced to move on.

Edward had never before appreciated just how deep in the jungle his aunt and uncle lived.

Far on the outskirts of the capital of Marolando, the healer's hut had been a constant fixture in the Maronese landscape since the dawn of time. Buried deep in the wilderness, even before villages and settlements had expanded and encroached on its solitude, this hut had been the home and hearth of the medicine man for centuries, whose job it was to tend to the needs of the most vulnerable citizens. The hut was lonesome— there were no neighbours to break the silence and no easy roads to encourage guests. Only a barn for livestock, a small garden for fruits and vegetables, and two rough-hewn paths that led to the front and back gates, just wide enough for two mounted men to ride abreast.

For the Maronese people knew that sickness could spread like wildfire, and only the jungle could keep it away.

"Not far now," Edward said gently, glancing down at Esme, who looked thin and exhausted. "Just over the crest of this hill and down again to the bottom, and we'll be at the village gates. Are you sure you don't want to ride?"

"No." His aunt shook her head and kept one hand on the corner of the litter, the other clasped tightly on a rope tied around the neck of a slow, fat mule. "If it's as you say and we're nearly there…"

"We are, darling," Carlisle replied, holding the rope attached to the other mule. "Once we get the girl settled, we'll have a good night's rest."

"Praise be," murmured Emmett, glancing down anxiously at the litter piled high with furs. "Is she well, Carlisle?"

"Well enough."

The girl, pale and wan, slumbered on as they walked, plodding a slow and steady pace up the hill. It was torture to move so slowly. Edward's horse— a fine, war-trained thoroughbred of 16 hands— was not used to such drudgery. He often grew antsy— he was not accustomed to this torturous slowness, and sped ahead in a quick trot that earned him nothing but scolding. Edward might have imagined it, but he thought that when he met the horse's eye after the last incident, he might have caught a hint of resentment. Magnus had always been a temperamental beast— almost as fussy and particular as his master.

But, while some might suspect otherwise, it was not the mules' fault that they moved so sluggishly. Carlisle, ever-resourceful, was unable to keep horses on his small plot of land, but had discovered some years back that mules were not so fussy. He'd raised them from foals— plump and clumsy things that tore up his garden and chewed on his fence posts. But even for mules, babyhood did not last forever, and they grew. They became healthy and strong— well-trained beasts of burden taught to carry bodies, both living and dead, through the jungles and fields of Marolando.

Edward had seen them more than once, always cool and collected, on the battlefield of last summer's bloody raids. He'd seen them carrying men who screamed and women who wailed. They'd pulled carts of children to safety, always under Carlisle's careful guidance, and they never faltered, sure-footed and sturdy as they were. They could be quick as small horses, should Carlisle spur them on, and they could be as slow as molasses trickling idly down the side of a bowl when so commanded.

That morning, Carlisle moved them at a snail's pace, determined that the girl should not be jostled by the pace of an overzealous canter. They had to move slowly, or else the girl would suffer.

"Nearly there," said Carlisle, steadying the litter on his animal's broad back as the party finally crested, the incline growing sharper and steeper on those last few meters. Magnus whinnied impatiently as Edward surveyed the sleepy village from his post, moving the horse into the underbrush to keep the mules on the road.

In the pale blue morning, the village lay sprawled in the valley between the jungle to the east, and the mountains to the west. Nestled snugly in the great, grassy basin, Edward's capital was the jewel of the island— the centre of culture, the seat of government, and the base for their strong, and still-growing, army. _La_ _Ĉefurbo,_ as it was known to the locals, was perfectly placed in the center of the island, no more than two days' ride from any other settlement. The low-lying flatness of the village was an exception to strategic rule— it did not hold high ground, as military prowess might demand, nor did it have access to waterways to launch a fleet, but for what it lacked in traditional gains, it made up for in fortitude.

For _La Ĉefurbo_ was, for all intents and purposes, a fortress, enclosed by tall, stone walls on all sides. Passages through these walls were sparse and narrow, guarded by some of Edward's best soldiers, and while any citizen of Marolando was permitted to enter the village unmolested, everyone knew that the King's soldiers would not hesitate to strike if they scented danger. The people who lived in the shadow of Edward's castle were some of the safest in the land, and their lack of farmland or green space was feeble payment for such peace of mind.

"Edward."

Snapped back to attention Edward turned, Magnus' hooves stamping anxiously at the undergrowth as he moved. Emmett's horse strode towards him, snorting, and shook its great, black mane.

"I'll go on ahead," said Emmett, jerking his head down the hill towards the village. "I'll clear the road and have them open the gates."

"Thank you."

"You'll be alright?" Emmett glanced anxiously down the path, as if half-expecting some unseen assailant to barrel out of the trees.

Edward laughed.

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "We're nearly there. And you forget… I was once a fighter too."

He thumbed the hilt of the great, steel sword at his waist.

"Yes," Emmett conceded. He wheeled his horse around. "But now you are a king. And a king is not a fighter."

The title settled on Edward like a cold rain.

"We'll be fine," said Edward. "It's still early. Few will have risen, and even so, we are not conspicuous enough to attract much attention."

Emmett grunted.

"Very well," he said. "I won't be far ahead. Call out if you need me."

And without another word he spurred his horse and flew down the road, dust pluming in his wake.

"We should move," said Carlisle gently, having stopped to assess the girl again as they crested. "It'll be full daylight soon, and if you hope to escape unnoticed…"

Edward, grimacing, gave a curt nod.

"On, then," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to ride, Esme? Magnus is strong enough to hold us both, or I'd be glad to take your place down there…"

"I'm sure," she said. Her eyes were bright from lack of sleep. "We're almost there… it makes no difference now."

They made quick work of the hill. Descending was far easier than ascending had been, and soon, they moved at a smooth, steady pace towards the village gates. Edward spied the sentry in the watchtower just as they emerged from the trees at the base of the hill, and the man did not hesitate once he saw the face of his ruler and his precious cargo, held aloft between the healer's beasts.

"My King." The man bowed respectfully as Edward approached.

"Samuelo."

"You are most welcome." He unlatched the gate. "Please…"

"Thank you."

The party moved through without aplomb.

"Have you thought about where you'll put her, Edward?" asked Carlisle. "It will need to be big enough for us to work… and clean. I can't stress that part enough."

"Yes," Edward said. "I thought the blue rooms would do."

Esme blinked, surprised.

"Your mother's rooms?"

A flush, warm and pink, rose on Edward's cheeks and he stared nervously ahead.

"Yes," he said. "They are the biggest, besides Jasper's and my own, and they are meant for a woman. "

Carlisle stared intently at him for a long moment before he gave a short nod, looking for all the world as if he wanted to speak.

But he didn't, and so Edward drove them onward.

It took nigh on twenty minutes to maneuver to the castle gates.

"Let them through!" Emmett shouted, his voice carrying on the cool, morning air. "Pull up the gate!"

And at once, the great, spiked, metal portcullis rose with the clinking of chains, retreating into the stone archway to let them through. They slipped into the courtyard just as the first of Edward's curious citizens began to make their way to the stone walls to watch.

When the gate closed behind them, its posts buried deep into the hard, pressed earth, Edward breathed a sigh of relief and dismounted, handing Magnus over to the waiting hands of the wiry stable master. The man, always stoic and frowning, gawked at the hidden figure in the litter, his eyes bugging when Carlisle reached over to check her pulse again.

"She is well," he reassured, seeing the man's sudden nerves.

"She looks dead," the man grunted. "Is she ill?"

"She is not dead," Carlisle replied.

Esme shook her head.

"Inside, Carlisle," she insisted. "Please…"

And at once, as if the man had forgotten himself, he gave Esme a respectful bow and backed away, tugging the horse behind him.

"Please, Edward…" Esme put her hand on his arm. "Get her inside."

"Of course."

And Edward moved, leading the party towards the small, shadowed doorway that led straight into the antechamber— beyond the grand entrance hall, away from the cavernous throne room, and towards that long, winding staircase that would bring them to the Queen's Chambers.

 **A/N: You all are lovely. Thank you for all your support and kind words.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tumbling made her dizzy.

Up and down, and left to right, Bella swayed, swinging lazily on a rope she could not see, above a world she did not know. _It was hot here,_ she thought, _always so hot…_ until the wind came, and with it, the snow and the ice. And then she would freeze. Shivering and swinging, spinning and sweating… never stopping, and never seeing.

Everything— every last bit of her— hurt. Though she did not walk, the pain her legs felt as sharp as broken glass. Her back felt like fire, her head like thunder, and her ribs cracked like frigid steel. As she swung she tasted blood, all metal and salt on her parched tongue, though sometimes, if she was lucky, the rain would come to wash it away. Sometimes, when the blood filled her mouth, cool, sweet water would take its place, and sometimes, she thought she could hear singing.

Today was not a singing day.

Floating in that spinning world beyond reason or thought, Bella waited, her limbs flailing for any hint of ground. She hated flying… it was too high, too dangerous, and too disorienting for her to feel anything but frantic. At any moment, she might come crashing down. At any minute, she might tumble headlong into the rocks, or the water, or the swaying, green trees above the hut…

The hut.

How had she come to be here?

She had seen it only once, when the light waxed long enough for her to see anything in this endless, bottomless blackness. Wooden walls, a thatched, yellow roof, a glassless window looking out into a world of green, and rafters spanning from wall to narrow wall, their shadows dancing like autumn leaves in the glow from a flickering fire. The light had not stayed long and Bella could not see as much as she'd wanted to, but before the light waned and she was plunged back into the dark, she had added to this new inventory.

She had seen hands. She had seen hair. And once, though it was only for the most fleeting of moments, she had seen a face.

She dreamed about that face.

It was fuzzy, even though it had sat right before her eyes, not a foot from the end of her nose. Its lips had parted in garbled speech, the words as strange and foreign as the words on the beach. The eyes of blue, so dark that they almost looked black, bore into hers, though what horrors they saw there, Bella would never know. The lips had moved, the eyes had raked her face, and though Bella could see them, she could not truly _know_ them. Her eyes had flitted shut shortly thereafter, dragging her back into that whirling, spinning hell, but all the while, she saw that face.

In this strange, shoreless space, Bella hovered, never really knowing, though her thoughts raced by like flies, and never really feeling, though the ache in her bones seemed her constant companion. Days turned into nights, and nights into eons, but all the while, Bella remained untouched, not knowing where she was, or really, _who_ she was. Time lost its meaning as she railed against the sky, shouting curses and pleas that no one but she could hear. Sometimes, she saw stars, but when they saw her watching they ducked away, flickering out like little candles snuffed by the dawn. Sometimes she felt hands, always grabbing, always touching, and though she longed to shrug them away, to banish them from this place of lonely solitude, her muscles would not obey.

She counted things in this place, though as time marched ever on, even that lost its appeal. _One pinch on her arm. Two hands on her ribs. Three stars up above. Four whispers in the dark. Five words, spoken in tongues…_

" _Bonvolu veki, karulo. Ni atendas."_

Yet still, she slept.

* * *

Bella felt like a seashell— empty, hardened, and fragile. Life had fled her, the world had forsaken her, and all that was good had abandoned her, lonesome and drifting, on an unfamiliar beach lapped by a strange and hostile sea. She could feel its water dripping down her face and she could hear its murmurs. Voices whispered words she did not understand and these missives bounced around her brain like echoes, a cacophony of sound that held no meaning. Now, when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness, and though she sat only by the edge of the ocean, she was sure the tides would do her in. Sometimes, she felt dry— so hot she could melt— but then all at once, the heat would flee and she would flounder, desperate for air, in the rising, ruthless sea.

* * *

Bella could see her mother.

Eyes closed, with laughter on her lips, she stood against a backdrop of blue, her arms raised towards the sky as if she could fly. Bella wondered if she would— if she would splay those arms to catch the breeze, lifting her higher, and higher, and higher until she was naught but a spot, a mere speck against the pressing darkness that had become her home. Bella hoped she wouldn't.

" _My baby…"_

Bella could not speak.

" _Always my baby… come to me, my love."_

"Mom…"

" _Hush, darling…"_ Her mother spun, the yellow skirt of her dress flaring like a tulip. _"Never mind, now…"_

"M…"

Her mother kissed her brow.

" _You're a good girl, Bella, you know that? I want you to remember that, always…"_

Something dark— something deep, and painful, and poignant— tugged at Bella's heart at the sound of those words. She'd heard them before, though when, she could not recall…

"Mom…"

" _My baby…"_ And suddenly, her mother was blazing with light. _"My girl… my favourite girl."_

A tightness in her chest made Bella choke, and she reached out a shaking, tremulous hand.

" _Go to bed, now, sweet thing, and don't come downstairs. Remember: Mommy loves you."_

I love you too…

" _Go on, now…"_ Her mother gripped her shoulders, and Bella was spinning. _"Be a good girl, Bella, and go upstairs…"_

Her feet on the steps. Her mother's lips, so soft and trembling, at the nape of her neck. Her mother's quivering fingers as Bella released her hand, and the blazing _something_ in her eyes as Bella looked back, only for a second, to see the strangest melancholy in her gaze. _She was supposed to be happy,_ Bella thought. _Why was she not happy?_

A bang through the floorboards that startled her awake, and her eyes, snapping open at the sound of the blast, sending bright, white light to fight away the darkness.

 **Translations:**

 _Bonvolu veki, karulo. Ni atendas.  
_ Please wake up, darling. We are waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The training yard was a brutal place.

Swords flying and armor glinting in the sunlight, Edward watched, poised and proud on his mount, as the flashing blades collided. The sound of clashing steel made his ears ring. Mud splattered in an arc as a soldier fell, sliding along the wet, earthen ground as his opponent struck again and landed a blow that would have proved fatal had they not been fighting with thick armour and dulled blades. The man grunted when his opponent's strike sent his face into the ground, and Edward was sure he heard the sickening crunch of his nose breaking.

Emmett chuckled and bit off a chunk of his apple, chewing cheerfully in the early afternoon sun. Emmett always found his new recruits amusing— he and Edward had been trained in the school of hard knocks, and as the leader of the Maronese fighting force, Emmett had fully embraced the curative power of injury on a proud and headstrong youth.

As far as Emmett was concerned, it was a right of passage. It was an integral part of any man's battle training to have his nose broken by an adversary, his eye blackened by a fist, or his ribs cracked by a poorly-executed shield defense.

"They're getting better," praised Emmett, lounging idly beside Edward on his own stallion. Edward watched intently as the wounded man rose again, and, like a true Maronese soldier, he rallied. The victor, cocky in his success, had turned his back on the fallen man and was crowing to his mates when his revived opponent struck, hard, and sent him flying face-first into a pile of horse dung.

And when the victor, his pride wounded more than his body, rose once more, the dance began again. He snatched up his shield and launched it like a stone, raising his sword to hack, swipe, and thrust at the other man's bloodied face.

"They are," agreed Edward, glancing at another duelling pair a little further down. Both struggled to find their footing in the slick mud. "But they're still as green as summer grass."

"We're all green until we're tried," said Emmett wisely. "We were untried too, remember?"

Edward grunted. Like any warrior, he remembered his first battle. He remembered the heady fear, the bubbling, wild excitement, and the nerves— oh, how those nerves had plagued him— as he waited for the horn to sound the advance, to send them into the thick of battle, where better men than he had fallen.

"If all goes well, these boys will stay green," said Emmett, and Edward noted a distinct softness in his voice. "It does not bode well for us if all of our soldiers bear battle scars."

"No," agreed Edward, "but it would make me feel better to know that they're capable."

"When have we ever trained a poor soldier?" Emmett asked sensibly. "Never, that's when. We only choose the best."

"I know." Edward shook his head. "But still, I worry…"

"As you should," said Emmett simply. "It is the king's duty to worry. But it is _my_ duty, as the head of your army, to oversee the training of our men. And believe me…"

Emmett wheeled his horse around to face Edward, his stare so intense that Edward felt a prickle of conscience.

"I do not train the weak," said Emmett. "I do not train the hesitant. I do not train the feeble-minded or the frail-bodied, because our soldiers need to be _strong._ They need to be fearless _._ They need to be ready, and able, and confident, because when our enemy comes riding over that mountain?"

He eyed the highest peak of _La Cunamo_ with guarded suspicion, and Edward held his breath.

"We need to be ready," he finished. "When the _Alia_ come trooping through the mountain pass to wreak havoc on our people, it will not do to have a quaking, quivering horde of cowards to defend us. Believe me, Edward… my father did not raise a weak army for your father, and I do not intend to raise one for you."

And as another man was knocked into the dirt, Edward heaved a sigh.

"I do not doubt you," he said gently. "Don't think that I do…"

"No," agreed Emmett, and a hint of his cheeky, trademark smile slipped back into place. "No, I don't think you doubt me."

Only a fool would, and Edward, no matter his faults, was no fool. Emmett continued.

"But I _do_ think you are a worrier."

"I do not like that they are so young."

"Most are no younger than you or I," Emmett said, his eyebrows raised in astonishment, "and none are underage. Besides… I'm the youngest _ever_ leader of the King's Army. Should the people doubt _me,_ based on nothing but my age?"

"No, of course not." Edward shook his head. "I know I'm being foolish… ignore me."

Emmett looked for a moment as if he might not heed this advice, but decided against further protest and fell into place beside Edward, both horses trotting away from the training ground as they took their leave. They moved in silence for a long while, Emmett hesitant and Edward brooding, until they came to the gated wall on the outskirts of the village proper. They rode single-file through the guarded gate, the sentry giving Edward a deep bow before the gate was closed again, and the guards continued to peer out into the wilderness from their holdfast.

"So…" Emmett, bouncing in his saddle, glanced carefully at Edward. "How is everything back home?"

Frowning, Edward glanced up at the great, stone castle, silhouetted in the distance against the grey mountainside. It stood high above the rest of the village, its many stories and jutting towers poised atop the sloping valley hill, towering over the flat-roofed, single-story dwellings of his people. If he looked closely, he was sure he would see the flash of a torch in a distant tower on the northern side. He had set up guards in that quarter of the castle, just outside the queen's chambers where he'd put the fallen girl, to give the room the peace and quiet that Carlisle had demanded.

And, if truth be told, Edward had done it for the girl's own protection and his own peace of mind. Word had escaped about the lady's confinement in the royal house, and the people flocked to her like flies to honey. If Edward left the castle gates ajar, as had been his norm until now, people congregated outside her tower at all hours, shouting blessings and prayers until Edward was forced to shoo them out and lock the gate.

"Well enough," he said quietly. "All is just as expected."

"And the prince?"

Edward, suddenly moody, scowled.

"The same," he grumbled. "Always the same. Disobedient, headstrong, temperamental…"

"Angry?" supplied Emmett unhelpfully. "Taciturn?"

"Indeed."

The word left a bitter taste in Edward's mouth.

"That boy needs discipline, Edward," Emmett said after a moment's silence. "The men tell me he runs rampant through the jungle at all hours, like a wild thing."

"He will not heed me," Edward returned, beyond frustrated. "Not when I threaten him, not when I shout, not when I take away his sword or his horse, not when I try to talk to him, man to man…"

Emmett grumbled.

"If he doesn't calm, he's going to get hurt," said Emmett quietly. "You know as well as I do what kinds of things lurk in those trees…"

Snakes and spiders, jaguars and tigers… the list was endless. And if he ventured too close to the dangerous and volatile western end of the island, Edward was positive the boy would be killed.

"I know," sighed Edward, "but I've run out of ideas. The boy will not listen to me… not as his king, or his brother, or his elder."

Emmett grunted.

"Disrespectful brat," he muttered, and Edward fought an unholy urge to grin. Even in their past days of reckless youth, Emmett had butted heads with Jasper, whom he'd always thought too brash, and too brazen. The boy grated on Emmett in such a way as Edward had never seen before. Emmett had always been easy-going and gregarious, ever the balm to Edward's fiery temper and high-strung tension. When the boys in school had teased him, Emmett had simply laughed it off. When Edward had gotten into a fight with the miller's son over a girl they'd both liked, it had been Emmett, all laughter and mirth, who had split them apart before the Master got wind of it.

But Emmett had found a mortal enemy in the unlikeliest of places— from the time Jasper could walk, trailing constantly after Edward with lisping eagerness and clinging, sticky fingers, Emmett's distaste for him had only grown. It was true that he tolerated him— no matter what, the boy _was_ only a child, not to mention the Crown Prince of Marolando and Edward's only heir. But no one— not his mother, his father, his former King, or Edward himself— could make Emmett _like_ him.

"I'll speak to him," Edward promised. "When we get back to the castle. See if I can't talk some sense into him."

"You'd do better to do that talking with a nice, thick switch," Emmett grumbled, and Edward flushed. Emmett's own father had never spared the rod, and Edward suspected that it had always been a small, yet lasting resentment between them. Emmett did not know what it was like to grow up without violence, and Edward— sheltered, gentle Edward— would never know its sting.

"I'll not strike him," Edward said finally, ignoring the scowl on Emmett's face. "Mother and Father never struck us, and I'll not start now."

"He's too headstrong," warned Emmett, "and wild. The boy is like an animal, Edward, living in the trees, and if he is not reined in…"

Edward said nothing, but the grimace on his face must have been enough for when he caught sight of it, Emmett pursed his lips and fell silent.

"I'll leave it at that," he finished finally. "I've said my piece and you know my mind."

"Indeed, I do."

"Good."

And Emmett spurred on ahead, leaving Edward in the dust as he rode, hard, towards the center of the village.

* * *

Moving silently through the busy streets, Edward and Emmett rode, their mounts pointed towards the castle, whose grounds began at the end of the long, winding lane. The street was bustling with market stalls, full to busting with a colourful array of fruits, vegetables, and handicrafts. The horses picked their way carefully through the crowds, always mindful of the children who tore through like wild things, laughing and shouting in their game of chase. These little ones paid little attention to the tentative hooves stepping cautiously around them, and they paid absolutely _no_ attention to the riders themselves. Edward enjoyed the children's games— he loved their mirth, and did not begrudge them one bit when they did not bow to him, as their parents did. Edward was not used to the bowing— the abject reverence of his subjects still disturbed him, though he fought hard to be gracious.

"My King!" a stall owner shouted from her place along the edge of the path. "My King! A blessing for the Goddess?"

She held out her hand to him, and Edward, feeling distinctly awkward, stopped his horse. The woman beamed when he dismounted, and, ignoring Emmett's frown, Edward walked towards her.

"A blessing, My King. A blessing for the lady…"

She held out a bushel of bananas, pressing them into his hesitant hands when he did not move to take them.

"My good madam…" Edward reached into his purse, ready to pay her for such a gift, but the woman balked and shook her head, backing away.

"No, no…" she said. "Take them. They are my gift, and a humble one at that. Please, My King, carry my goodwill forward."

Wondering if he could slip the coins into her stall without her noticing, Edward was taken by surprise when the lady kissed his dirty knuckles, her head bowed over his fist.

"Madam…"

"Please, My King." The woman's eyes were bright. "Take them to her. May they please her, and keep her well…"

"I…"

"Please, Sir."

And Edward relented.

"I thank you," he said quietly. "And the lady thanks you, too, I'm sure…"

The woman bowed to him twice, but before Edward could return to his horse, another petitioner accosted him. When Edward turned back to the road he saw a growing crowd of people, both shoppers and sellers, all staring up at him with bright excitement.

"For the Goddess," said a wizened old man who was nearer than any of the others. "To beg her blessings, and to offer a prayer for her safe recovery."

Avocados, ripe and full, in a bushel basket.

"Please, My King, beg her favour for my boy. My sick boy…"

Mangoes.

"My wife, Sir! My wife…"

Kiwis.

The lineup of people before him grew even longer.

Squash, and rye, and barley, and onions. Potatoes, and pineapple, and sweetbread, and wine. His arms and horse were laden before half the line had dissipated, and though Edward loaded his saddlebags, they were not enough.

"For your own health, My King!" Edward felt a burlap sac of sorely coveted black tea pushed into his hands. "A prayer to the Goddess for the King's longevity!"

The man roused the market to a cheer, and Emmett, always leery of crowds, began to bristle. Edward took pity on him and handed half the horde to him for safekeeping, allowing him to store it in his own saddlebags as Edward swung back into place.

"I thank you!" Edward called. His voice rang over the starry-eyed group, some of which still held offerings. "And I'm sure the lady will thank you, when she is able…"

"Praise be!" called the rousing man. "Praise to the Goddess!"

The crowd cheered again and Edward, his face and neck red, cleared his throat.

"Let's go," said Emmett quietly, glancing down at the children, who were beginning to crowd the horses. A small girl stuck a daisy in the bridle of his mount. "Your poor horse won't be able to hold much more if they keep it up…"

As if to protest this slight, Magnus snorted, stamping his hooves on the packed dirt road.

"Sure." Edward wheeled around, and the horse began to canter. "Back to the castle…"

But Edward and Emmett, try though they might, did not make it halfway down the road before they were met with another obstacle, this time in the form of a wild, whirlwind boy. He was sprinting down the path as if a band of _Alia_ were chasing him, and Edward, confusion mounting, pulled his horse to a stop. Edward would know his brother anywhere— the way his hair flopped into his eyes, and the way his long, gangly legs made him look like a newborn colt. A troupe of soldiers chased after him, cursing and shouting his name as he fled, and Edward, growing suddenly hot with anger, spurred his horse forward, his teeth clenched. The boy had been put on strict house arrest, and well he knew it. He was not to leave the grounds, and he was most definitely _not_ to run from the guards when his defiance was found out…

"Edward!"

Edward squinted into the sun, quickening his pace at the urgency in his brother's tone that could not _quite_ quash the anger. Emmett, hard and cold, stared down the lane, his eyes fixed on the wayward child.

"Edward!"

"Get over here!" Edward called back, and the boy all but crashed into Magnus' flank. He braced himself against the beast, his chest heaving as he reached up and grabbed Edward's hand.

Reprimands and rebukes died on his tongue as Edward took in the sight of him. His face was red and sweaty— no doubt from his long sprint— but there was a bright terror in his eyes that Edward rarely saw. He looked disturbed— madder and more frantic than was normal— and his grip was strong, but shaking.

At once, Edward knew something was amiss.

"What is it?" Edward asked, resisting the insistent tug on his arm. The boy grunted with exertion but his strength did not fail him as he pulled, hard, against his unmovable brother. The boy continued to tremble.

"What is it?" Edward repeated, more sternly this time. Taking pity on the boy as the angry, surly soldiers caught up with them, Edward dismounted and took his brother by the shoulders, but the boy shrugged him off, grabbing his sleeve and giving it a sharp tug.

"Come!" Jasper pleaded, his eyes bright with some anxious excitement. "Come, Edward, quickly…"

"Where?" Emmett spoke curtly and Jasper, leery of the guard, swallowed thickly. He stared up at Emmett and seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he turned away and spoke instead to his brother.

"Come!" he repeated. "You must come! Uncle Carlisle…"

"Is he hurt?" demanded Edward.

"No. No, it's the lady."

And at once, Edward's stomach dropped. Emmett, heaving a sigh, looked troubled and sad as his horse pawed nervously at the ground. Dread, as hot and sticky as bubbling treacle, seemed to seep up through the ground to fill Edward's chest, anchoring him to the spot as those words— and the unspoken implications— hit home.

He should have known it would happen. He should have known that she would not heal. He had seen her with his own eyes, deathly pale and still. He had watched her, so thin and wasted beneath the furs as she faded day by day. He had seen the way she had fitted, twitching and shaking like a mad thing, and the way his uncle had held vigil by her bedside, silver spoon in hand, to check whether her resultant stillness came from slumber or death.

Edward had known that it was only a matter of time before she slipped away. He had been a fool to think she might come back to them, and how could he have been so cruel? The girl had been in pain. The girl had _suffered._ And he, the Leader of the People, had allowed it to happen. He should have begged Carlisle— _commanded_ Carlisle— to end it, to ease her way without the torment of trauma …

"Come!" Jasper insisted again. "You must come! Uncle has asked for you!"

"Why me?" The heaviness in Edward's heart— the weight that spoke of regret, and sorrow, and guilt— kept him still. "I cannot help her now, Jasper. _No one_ can help her now…"

Angry and frustrated, Jasper reached up and punched Edward on the shoulder. Edward relished the ache, the sting of his brother's knuckles etched on his skin in a burgeoning bruise.

"Come on!" insisted Jasper. "Come _on!"_

"Very well," said Edward finally, taking up the horse's reins with numb, clumsy fingers. "Come, Emmett."

The weight of his saddlebag— of those hopeful and desperate gifts from his people— felt heavier than ever.

"Hurry!" Jasper pleaded, shoving at the horse's flank. Edward lifted himself back into the saddle with clumsy awkwardness, and Magnus stamped his displeasure. "Hurry, Edward! Uncle Carlisle has asked for you!"

"Why?" asked Edward, and Jasper stared at him with incredulous disbelief. Had Edward not been so aggrieved, so distracted by this sudden and abrupt shift in temperament, he might have realized his mistake.

"Because you are the King!" Jasper replied. "You are the King, and the lady is waking up!"

 **Translations:**

 _La Cunamo  
_ The Tsunami — the name of the mountain range in Marolando

 _Alia_  
Others


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Light.

Blazing, flaring, stinging, fearsome light.

She could not see. She could not _think._

Her breath caught in her throat and a voice, speaking words she did not understand, rang out frantically from somewhere beside her.

Bones ground together in her hand as Bella clenched her fist. The light was bright, _too_ bright, and she could not cast it out. Her eyes were stinging. Her face was wet. Her lungs weren't working, and that voice— that high, frightened voice calling out in tongues— drove her wild. Her ears were ringing. Something heavy sat on her chest. Something snug was wrapped around her legs. Something strong held her down, pinning her, and she had to move, had to get away…

Mustering all her feeble strength, Bella managed to raise her arm. She did not know why it was so sore or why it was wrapped so tightly, but she soon found out how heavy it was when her strength failed her, and it came crashing down on her chest like a hammer on a nail. All at once, the air left her lungs in a startled _whoosh,_ and she felt the scrabbling of sharp, little fingers on her swollen ones, gently prying the limb away. But the damage was done. Bella coughed, the force of her own blow sending a splintering pain down her right side, and she tasted blood… so much blood…

A new voice, darker and deeper, pierced the incessant ringing in her ears, but when she forced her eyes open, she saw nothing but blurry and frosted shadows.

Voices. Muttering. A distorted face, featureless and plain, swimming before her own. A cloth at her lips. Water, cool and fresh, wetting her tongue…

She choked on it and the voice shushed her, rolling her painfully onto her side as she hacked, her eyes streaming.

Fur tickled her nose.

" _Facila, karulo. Vi dormis tro longe…"_

The words made her head spin and when she opened her eyes again— the effort far more laborious than she'd ever thought possible— she saw, a little more clearly, who had spoken.

It was a man— tall, but crouched— resting on his haunches next to a bed where she lay, listless, facing away from the light. Sunlight, hot and bright, streamed through a glassless window she could just make out in her periphery, and Bella felt a warm breeze on the back of her neck. The man held a whittled, wooden cup in his fingers, its contents sloshed over the edge and dripping onto the floor. His face was a mask of concern, his kindly grey eyes boring into hers as if he wanted to see _through_ her.

When he spoke, her head spun.

Tired, confused, and fighting back a cruel and biting headache, Bella stared, dumbfounded, as the man spoke again. And then _he_ stared at _her_. His next words were slow— deliberate, even— and though Bella could see the efforts he took to speak clearly, she could make no sense of it. The man glanced anxiously over his shoulder, eying more shadowy figures that Bella could not make out, before she was turned dizzyingly onto her back, and her blankets torn away.

The man babbled, and Bella, blinking dazedly up at the wooden ceiling, fought to catch her breath. Her chest was sore— each breath brought a strange, popping pain and a crackling sound that reminded her of crushed paper. It felt like fire in her heart. The stranger's hands roved over her, his fingers prodding at her ribs, her neck, and her head until Bella could not stand it and she squirmed, shifting an inch or so to the right.

The man said something else, still staring down at her, and Bella felt the hateful sting of tears in her eyes.

"Charlie?" she mumbled, wondering where her uncle was. Charlie would make everything better— Charlie _always_ made everything better. Where was he?

She called his name again, and murmurs erupted from the foot of the bed.

" _Ĉu ŝi parolas, Carlisle? Kio ŝi diris?"_ A stranger, spoke into the silence.

" _Neniu…"_

And before Bella could process what the voices had said, what strange language they may have spoken, the man was pushed aside by a small and desperate hand. A woman took his place— a soft and gentle-looking woman with a long, thick braid and eyes of dark, piercing blue. Her fingers were soft and warm on Bella's cheeks as she peered eagerly at her face, tracing patterns over Bella's nose and lips. She beamed when Bella's unfocused eyes met hers, and Bella stared for only a moment before she turned, despite the rushing throb in her temples, and looked around the room.

Light blue paint covered stony brick walls, with a massive, sprawling mural spanning the length of the the right-hand wall. Although Bella could not make out what it might be, she could see that it was detailed, the tiny brushstrokes blurred and waving as she tried to take it in. A canopy of blue netting drifted above her, fixed to a tall wooden post, and the fabric fell in ample waves about the cushioned mattress. The bed was covered in furs and blankets— some black, some grey, and some the same, luxurious blue as the walls— and though the light was too bright for her to face them head-on, she could see the outlines of two tall windows inlaid on the wall to her left, and another straight ahead.

"Where am I?" Her voice cracked and rattled.

The words left her all at once, and Bella watched the blank confusion on the strangers' faces with growing concern.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Where am I?"

The man came back in a flash and this time, he held a candle to her face. Bella protested his inspection but the man was firm and strong, peering into her eyes with mounting concern as she continued to babble, growing more and more agitated.

" _Ne, ne…"_ He shushed her gently and patted her hair. _"Ne, karulo. Vi estas sekura."_

"Where am I?" she asked again, and this time, her chest grew tight. The sting behind her eyes betrayed her fear and she knew the man saw, his face pinching as he wiped a hand over her cheek. Her breath grew short and the pulsing pain in her head increased. Ringing intensified in her ears, cut only by the loud, rhythmic timbre of her pulse…

And at once, Bella felt bile rise in her throat. Her brow broke out in sweat and her vision swam in a sudden haze of tears. Like the quick swell of the surf on a bright and sunny afternoon, her stomach roiled with a horridly familiar warning of sickness. She fought to bring a hand to her mouth, to hold off the inevitable, but before she could warn him, she felt her body heave.

The man had her turned onto her side again and, in a heartbeat, produced a large, wooden bowl to hold underneath her. She retched— horrible, painful spasms of sickness— until her eyes watered and her breath was lost and she trembled, terrible, awful tremors that shook her to her very marrow. She brought up nothing but bile and what little bit of water she'd consumed just minutes before, and though her stomach ached and her eyes streamed, it did not let up.

"Shhh…" the man soothed, and that, at least, was understood. "Shh, shh, shh…"

She rinsed her mouth with water from the man's cup. Coughing weakly, despite her flaring ribs, Bella felt herself growing heavy, exhausted by her sudden trial. All at once, it did not matter that she was sick and her brain was on the fritz. It did not matter that she was panicked, and frightened, and so horribly, damnably confused. Her eyes grew heavy— unbearably so— and she felt them drifting shut despite herself.

" _Shh, karulo. Vi estas sekura. Sekura, karulo…"_

Sleep took her quickly.

* * *

By the time Edward made it to the castle in a flurry of hooves and shouts, Jasper clinging desperately to his waist so as not to slip off the back of the saddle, the entire palace was in an uproar.

Soldiers barricaded the entranceway. Citizens— men, women, and children from the surrounding village— crowded around the stone keep, shouting praise and exultation for the revived Goddess. Jasper, red-faced and guilty, glanced nervously back at the gate, which had evidently been left open in his haste to find his brother. Edward's horse reared as it neared the crowd, and Jasper jumped quickly from his seat, taking Magnus by the bridle.

"I'll put him away," the boy offered nervously. "You go upstairs. Uncle is waiting."

And so, with his saddlebag of offerings in hand, Edward pushed through the growing crowd and opened the castle door, latching it with a firm _click_ just after Emmett, holding tight to his own bundled bag, trailed in after him.

Through the entranceway and around the throne room, they raced through the opulence and splendour of the palace. Past the great hall, through the library, and around the Council Chambers to the staircase, which wound clockwise up four stories through a tall and narrow tower. The winding made him dizzy, but Edward did not cease, his feet pounding a punishing rhythm on the stone until he made it, heart hammering, to the last door, cracking it open with caution.

The Queen's antechamber was empty. A teapot, still steaming, rested on a small stool next to the fireside chair, where Edward saw his aunt's damp shawl hung before the blazing hearth. Most of the furniture was still covered— Edward had not had time to properly air the room before the girl's arrival— but the little nest his aunt had made herself could not be mistaken, and Edward was thankful for it. The only noise came from his own heavy breathing, the hammering of his pulse in his ears, and the crackling fire, which popped and hissed as it ate deeper into the damp logs. Emmett was silent as the grave— stock-still and serious— until he deposited his saddlebag next to the window, and turned hesitantly towards the closed door of the bedchamber.

"I'll wait here," he said quietly. "It would not do to have a strange man in a lady's room."

"As you wish," said Edward. He left his bag next to Emmett's, giving his friend a quick pat on the back as he pulled a white sheet away from a covered, ornate sofa. Emmett lowered his ample frame onto it and rested his elbows on his knees. He said nothing more as Edward fidgeted, uncertain and anxious, and when he closed his eyes, heaving a great and heavy sigh, Edward turned away. He glanced towards the bedchamber instead, and the closed wooden door felt as obtrusive and impenetrable as a wrought iron gate.

The latch on the door, golden and shining, was cold in his hand. He pulled it carefully, feeling for all the world like a thief in the night until it gave way and swung open, leaving him standing in the blazing light of the bright bedchamber.

The room was in disarray.

Blankets, thrown onto the floor, lay in a haphazard pile at the foot of the bed. The canopy, designed to keep away flying insects during the night, had been thrown hastily aside. The table upon which Carlisle had placed his instruments had been disturbed, pots of salves and spices upturned, their contents spilling out onto the wooden table. His aunt hovered anxiously over her husband's shoulder, her fingers at her lips as she gnawed on her thumbnail— a sure sign of nerves and discontent. Carlisle himself knelt on the wooden floor, a wooden bowl resting next to him, and his fingers pressed lightly over the pulse in the girl's neck. His other hand, trembling and gentle, rested on her hair.

And when Edward found the girl's face, he saw that she was no longer peaceful. Her stillness had fled, and in its place was a pinched, tearstained face, disturbed the shifting unrest of shallow sleep.

"Carlisle?"

"Edward." His uncle, starting at the sound of him, drew his fingers away from his patient.

"Jasper… he said…"

"Yes." His uncle smiled— a real, true smile that betrayed none of his prior worry— and Edward felt his own anxiety beaten back, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. _So it was true,_ he thought. Jasper had not been lying. There had been no trick, no mistake, no misunderstanding…

"She does not look awake," was all that he said, and for the first time in a long while, Esme laughed— a high, strained sound that belied her shaky, tremulous relief.

"She was," insisted Carlisle. "She opened her eyes and spoke. She was sick…" Edward glanced nervously away from the bowl at Carlisle's feet. "And now, she sleeps."

Edward frowned. The girl shifted restlessly.

"You see? This is true sleep," said Carlisle. "Not unconsciousness. This time, if we disturb her, she will wake."

Edward, still hovering on the threshold, gave a careful smile.

"What did she say to you?" he asked. "Did she tell you where she came from?"

His uncle froze at once.

Closing his mouth with deliberate care, Carlisle shifted his attention to his nephew, but he did not say a word. This query, though innocently spoken, seemed to spark something in Carlisle, igniting an unnamed, unknowable silence that drove Edward to maddening curiosity. The silence was almost palpable. His uncle shifted uncomfortably as Edward watched, confused and perplexed, before he exchanged an unspoken, meaningful glance with his wife. Esme's tentative joy turned to worry at once, and Edward, feeding off of her nerves, felt his own anxious energy ramping back up. _What had she said to them? What secrets had she shared?_

"What did she say, Carlisle?"

After a long moment of persistent stillness, Carlisle met his eye with a quiet calm and an unexpected, wavering hesitation. It was written on his face as plainly as if someone had scrawled it there in ink: the man was _uncertain._ Carlisle was _never_ uncertain. Surefooted and easy, Carlisle was a master of logic. He was a voice of sense in Edward's world, which was so often plagued by fancy and nonsense. Everyone, from his poorest citizens to his strong and stalwart advisors, were so steeped in superstition that level-headed clarity had become a rare commodity. Carlisle did not lose his head. Logic did not defy him. A scientific mind with a wise and benevolent soul, Carlisle was the epitome of reason.

But Carlisle— the stoic, intelligent healer who'd studied more books and texts than Edward could have read in three lifetimes— seemed struck dumb by this strange slip of a girl, who'd barely had the time to say two words to him. This woman, injured and disoriented, had somehow managed to rattle _Carlisle_ , one of the strongest, most level-headed people Edward had ever known, and a burning question struck him like an arrow launched from a taut and pliant bowstring. Just what could this woman have said to make Carlisle so afraid? Edward's own anxiety, already fuelled by the tension in the room, soared, and on instinct, he felt his fingers twitch towards his sword. The unbroken silence weighed on them like an anvil, and the longer it lasted, the closer Edward came to the edge. Finally, when his question continued to go unanswered, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as if he'd been pushed from some great height.

His fear must have shown, then, for Carlisle seemed to remember himself just at that moment. Edward, on instinct, felt his hand brush the hilt of his sword, his spine stiffening with the threat of impending violence.

"Nothing," said Carlisle finally. "She didn't say anything."

This response, unexpected as it was, made Edward stiffen. Even as a child, Edward had possessed an uncanny ability to detect falsehood, and just now, listening to Carlisle's hedging words, he felt the telltale bristling at the back of his neck. His uncle, whom Edward trusted above all others, would not meet his eye, and the longer the lie lay between them, growing like a weed, the angrier Edward grew.

"Do not tell falsehoods, Carlisle. What did she say?"

"I…" Carlisle stood, shaking his head again. "I couldn't say."

"What do you mean?" Edward moved to the foot of the bed, staring down at the girl's flushed face. He forced his hand away from the hilt of his blade, flexing his fingers in a deliberate attempt to calm himself, but when Carlisle remained silent, Edward felt a rush of irritation.

"Was she coherent?"

"Yes…" hesitated Carlisle, "and no."

"You're as bad as Jasper," complained Edward waspishly, his false bubble of calm popping in an instant. "Tell me what she said, Carlisle. Where does she come from?"

Hearing the command in Edward's voice made Carlisle sag, and he turned to his nephew with an intense concern that Edward rarely saw.

"I could not understand her," he said, and even through his annoyance, Edward caught the worry. "And I don't think she could understand us."

"What do you mean?" Edward's teeth clenched so tightly together that he wondered if they'd crack.

"I mean what I said," returned Carlisle crossly. "I did not understand her language."

"And what language was that?" Edward asked. He fought to keep the snark out of his voice. _He was a King, and a King was gracious. A King was patient. A King was gentle, and understanding, and fair..._

"I don't know," repeated Carlisle. "It wasn't our language."

Edward barked a sardonic laugh.

"What nonsense." His Kingly virtues were all but forgotten. "You're mistaken, Carlisle. The girl is not well, and you… you must be overtired."

For there was only one language spoken on the island, and no one knew it better than Carlisle.

"I'm not," said Carlisle again, and this time Edward could not mistake the note of defensive agitation. "Ask your aunt. Ask the _child."_

"What child?"

Edward glanced surreptitiously about the room, startled back into patient, slightly guilty calm when he noticed a small, shy-looking girl hidden in the shadows by the window, her face downcast and her eyes turned away. Esme caught his curious stare and beckoned the child forward, cajoling her with friendly, but unsuccessful smiles.

"It's alright, darling. Come," said Esme, and the girl obeyed with lagging feet and trembling hands. Edward felt a pang of pity when he recognized her dress— countless copies of the same brown, cotton smock had been supplied in heaps to the Children's Home in the center of the village, where the orphans from last summer's vicious raids were being housed. This particular orphan was still a child— a small, scrawny girl with a thin, elfin face, and long, black hair that touched her waist. She had it neatly plaited, tied off at the end with a piece of ribbon as red as ripe, summer cherries. The girl seemed frightened by him— she certainly would not _look_ at him— and Edward noted that she eyed the great, gleaming sword at his waist with particular apprehension.

"Who are you?" asked Edward, not unkindly, and the girl shivered.

"Alice, My King."

"And what is your purpose here?"

"I…" The girl looked askance at his aunt. Esme smiled at her, nodding her head encouragingly before the child faltered, and Esme took pity on her.

"I asked her here," said Esme. "Her father, rest his soul, was the herbalist. She knows medicines, and we needed an extra set of hands to look after our sleeping lady."

Edward, fighting a grimace, looked away from the child, a strong pang of pity gripping his heart. The herbalist had worked closely with his uncle for many years, providing the healer with the necessary plants to make medicines, tinctures, and salves. The herbalist had been a mild man, a learned man, and a man undeserving of the fate he and his family had suffered during the first round of attacks from the men beyond the mountain the summer before. Decades prior, the herbalist and his wife had made their home at the foot of the mountains, whose slopes provided a variety of soils and gradating temperatures needed to grow a full complement of medicinal plants. Such was their sanctuary— a secluded, pastoral place to grow their stock and raise their children— but when the _Alia_ had rushed through the unguarded mountain pass with axes and swords, they had been among the very first casualties.

Edward had seen, with his own two eyes, the devastation of that first attack. He had seen the herbalist, strung up and hanged by the neck from a great coconut tree at the base of the mountain, and his wife, a tiny slip of a woman, raped and killed on the floor of their barn. Their sons, all tall and handsome boys, had been butchered like beasts in the back pasture, and their house had been burned to ashes in a great, billowing inferno. It had been the first and final civilian bloodshed Edward had ever tended alongside his father, and it had stuck with him like a bad smell. Edward knew, in his heart, that this brutality was a mark that would never leave him— the blood of that innocent family would stain his hands until his dying day, and the memory of their suffering would forever play in the recesses of his mind.

But despite it all— despite the time they had taken to bury the dead, the parties they had sent out in search of the perpetrators, and the long, anxious nights they had spent keeping guard over that mountain pass— Edward had not known about a daughter.

"I'm sorry for your loss," said Edward gently, and the child's face pinched, "and I thank you for your service. If there is anything you need, you will please let me know."

The child, gnawing anxiously on her lip, ducked back into shadows without a word.

"I speak the truth, Edward," said Carlisle gravely, returning Edward to the discussion at hand. "I could not understand a word of what that woman said, and though I cannot speak for her, I do not believe she understood us."

"That's not possible," Edward said again, shaking his head. "What else would she speak, if not Maronese? There is no other language left on this island, and she is not old enough to have known any of the elders who spoke the old tongues. She can't be much older than myself, Carlisle, and the last of the Ancient Ones died when you were just a boy!"

"I don't _know_ , Edward," said Carlisle, staring down at the girl again. "I can only guess…"

"Guess?"

"You know my father collected relics," said Carlisle. "Things that washed up on the shore, or old, weathered things that no one else thought useful."

"Yes," said Edward curtly. He had seen this collection many times. Silver forks, tarnished with age, and crab shells, empty of their inhabitants, all pulled from the shallows along the southern beaches. Driftwood and seaglass, piled into neat boxes, and old parchment covered in ornate, yet indecipherable, writing. There were outdated books, torn manuscripts, and baubles saved from the ashes of the Ancient Ones' cabin, where it had been burned to the ground out of fear of disease.

"There is a book," continued Carlisle. "A particular book. An _old_ book… older, maybe, than even our island."

Edward stared at him in disbelief.

"And there are words written in it," continued Carlisle. "Foreign words. Strange words that I cannot decipher, though I _can_ sound them out."

Edward felt another irritated barb at the end of his tongue— he had no use for mysticism or illusion— but the child's sniffle from the back corner of the room made him halt, keeping his anger in check. She was frightened of him as it was— the big, commanding man with a great, glinting sword— and Edward was loathe to make it worse.

"Where is this book now?" Edward asked stiffly. "And why does it matter?"

"It is in a box, hidden away at my cabin," said Carlisle. "I keep it hidden, so as not to draw suspicion. You know how people can be…"

Edward continued to stare, silent and surly. Superstition ran rampant on the island like a plague, and neither Carlisle nor Edward was impervious to it.

"Her words…" Carlisle shook his head, as if he, himself, could not make complete sense of it. "Her words sounded… familiar. She spoke with a strange accent— one I have never heard before— and she was upset, but her words were very familiar to me."

"What did she say?"

"I don't…" Carlisle shook his head again, and Edward saw the flicker of annoyance on his brow. "I don't _know."_

"Well then, what _do_ you know?"

Carlisle's eyes flashed with indignant impatience, and Edward felt his ire before he heard it.

"That whatever language she speaks, it is not of this land," he replied. "That whatever she said is similar to, if not the same as, what appears in that book, and from what feeble memories I have from my boyhood, it sounded just like the strange language spoken by the elders in their hut. That wherever she came from, whatever land she calls home, her people must know that book and those words, for she does not know ours— not our language, and certainly not our customs. She did not recognize me as a healer, though I wear my traditional robes of white."

Edward, blinking, glanced down at the girl in the bed. She tossed in her sleep, her lips parted as a sweat broke on her brow and Esme, pointedly avoiding both her husband and nephew, wiped it gently with a damp cloth.

"There is no other land, Carlisle," said Edward, his mouth dry. "You know that as well as I do. There is only the ocean, and this island as a refuge for mankind. Where else would she have come from, if not here?"

Carlisle said nothing, but stared at Edward, disturbed and shaken by this quiet observation. Edward realized then that he was late on the uptake— this frightening and disturbing epiphany had struck Carlisle long before it had him, and though Carlisle had had time to process it, he seemed no closer to rational sense than Edward. When his uncle spoke, Edward felt a shiver down his spine.

"Then how do you explain _her?_ If it's as you say, and the island is all there is…"

The girl shifted in the bed.

"Then how do you explain _her?"  
_

 **Translations:**

 _Facila, karulo. Vi dormis tro longe…  
_ Easy, darling. You've slept too long.

 _Ĉu ŝi parolas, Carlisle? Kio ŝi diris?  
_ What is she talking about, Carlisle? What did she say?

 _Neniu  
_ No

 _Ne, ne… Ne, karulo. Vi estas sekura.  
_ No, no… No, darling… you're safe.

 _Shh, karulo. Vi estas sekura. Sekura, karulo…  
_ Shh, darling. You're safe. Safe, darling…


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: My apologies, folks. I'm on vacation, so I wasn't able to update yesterday.**

 **Chapter 10**

Consciousness— blooming, tangible, painful consciousness— came to her in bits and pieces, like dust carried in on the fragrant breeze wafting through the high, glassless windows. It settled on her in waves— first, her arms, heavy and leaden. Second, her legs, sore and stiff. Third, her head, throbbing and pulsing, and then her chest, burning and sharp. Her fingers felt like ice. Her ribs felt like fire. The pain in her back felt like a hundred stinging bees and reminded her of that time, so long ago, when she'd played on the sandy shores of the California coast with her mother, their fun interrupted by the untimely arrival of a great and slimy jellyfish.

Through the blackness behind her eyelids, Bella saw red— the telltale herald of the blazing sun— and she kept her eyes clenched shut. Last time she'd opened them too quickly, and the light had pierced her like a laser. Last time, she'd been too hasty. Last time, she'd been blind.

 _Last time._

Her memory was like a sieve. Thought trickling away like water down a storm drain, Bella struggled to remember what she'd seen— what she'd _heard_ — when she'd last been awake. She remembered her arm— how it had been wrapped, and had done her some injury when it had fallen, heavy and stiff, to her chest. She remembered the face of the grey-eyed man, babbling unintelligibly at her until her panic had risen and made her sick. She remembered the woman, though not well, and she thought she remembered crying.

And somewhere in her past— whether distant or close— she remembered drifting. She remembered floating. She remembered tumbling and spiralling and flipping through endless blackness, unable to find the shore, or the sand, or the beach…

And her mother… how had she heard her mother's voice?

The air around her felt foreign— damp and hot upon her face and arms. Bella gave an experimental wiggle of her toes, tenting the fabric at her feet as she tried to ascertain exactly where she was. She did not know, precisely, but she knew she was not where she ought to be. She knew very well where she _should_ be— in a small rental apartment in Beijing, right next to the school at which she'd been hired to teach— and yet…

" _Mia Damo?"_

A different voice than the one she remembered— this one high and gentle— jolted Bella back to the present with all the grace and subtlety of a freight train. The voice confused her. Its cadence was unfamiliar and its owner, a mystery, and all at once, a barrage of questions struck her— Why could she hear the calling of gulls? Why was the air so hot and humid? And why, in all hell, was she in bed, when she knew she should be in a classroom, surrounded by a bunch of Chinese six-year-olds?

The sound of her own nervous breathing interrupted her as she lay, immobile, slowly coming back to herself. The bed, to which she'd paid no mind to until now, was soft, though the light, airy fabric covering her was unfamiliar and strange. She could feel it wrapped around her legs, no doubt tucked in beneath the mattress, and though no such thing bound her arms, Bella found them inordinately hard to move. She was sunk deeply into the cushions, cradled snugly on all sides, and the feeling threatened to lull her back to sleep. Warding off this threat, Bella squirmed, each movement bringing her closer to the surface. She fought, desperate and determined to find her way out of this haze, and there was a talking voice in her head. It was an incessant, desperate, and almost commanding voice that demanded that she wake, and rise, and figure out just what had happened to land her here, in bed, rather than out _there_ ,where she belonged.

Because, for the life of her, she could not remember.

She snapped her eyes open.

At once, her eyes began to water. The sting of sunlight was overwhelming and Bella, groaning, blinked her eyes shut almost as soon as the light accosted her. The red behind her eyes seemed to grow brighter and fiercer, and before long, the glow was almost as bad as the light itself. As soon as she moved, Bella felt the mattress dip and a hand on her cheek, and with a great, startled effort, she forced herself to look.

The room appeared in sharp relief, as if a cool, morning fog had been wiped from a window. She could see, bothersome though the fierce light was, the rafters on the ceiling, obscured only by the light, gauzy blue of a canopy hanging above her. Both sides were open, pulled back to let in the breeze, and Bella could see the mysterious mural on one side, the high windows on the other.

The room was still for a long moment before a flicker of movement caught her eye and she turned her head experimentally to the right, catching sight of a long, black braid and a pair of wide, grey eyes. She ignored the pull in her muscles— she had already known that they would not thank her after their disuse— and blinked up at the girl, who watched her with mingled concern and curiosity.

The child was small, but pretty, with a narrow face and a thin, shapely nose. Her face still held some of the roundness of youth but she was no toddling baby, and Bella placed her somewhere between childhood and adolescence. The girl _looked_ young, as she was small and slight, though Bella held a sudden and silent suspicion that she was older than she looked. She was skinny and short, lacking any telltale shape of womanhood, and Bella could not help but notice the dancing merriment in her eyes that outshone even her worry. When her slender fingers came up to touch Bella's brow, as if checking for signs of fever, Bella felt her little hands trembling.

"You're cold," said Bella gently, and the child blinked confusedly at her.

 _"_ _Ĉu io doloras?"_

Bella stared.

"I, uh…" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, wincing at the dry, scratching pain. She was _parched._ The child, watching her expectantly, glanced nervously about the room before she settled on Bella's wrapped wrist, taking it gently in her hands.

" _Doloro?"_ she asked, the upturn at the end of the word signalling a question. _"Doloro?"_

Bella's bandaged hand twitched, and the movement sent a shot of pain right through to her shoulder. Jerking it away from the little, curious fingers, Bella cradled it carefully to her chest, this time mindful of those bindings and the damage they might do. She held her breath as the pain subsided and the girl, looking satisfied and grim, gave a nod.

She hopped from the bed, lithe and quick as a bunny, and Bella watched her as she darted towards the far wall, parking herself at a long trestle table beneath the window. For the first time, Bella noticed a strange lineup of items laid out there, the sight of which made her stomach clench. Aloe plants, tall and spidery, reached up towards the ceiling. Vials of liquid— red and clear and amber and brown— rested on the window sill. Clay pots with rough-hewn lids lay in neat rows along the wall, and a selection of strange metal instruments— blades, rods, tubes, and tweezers— gleamed on a mat of strange-looking fabric that might have been leather. Baskets of bandages lined baseboards along the floor, and a basin, full to the brim with clear water, rested between the trestles.

What in the hell was this place?

The child, however, did not notice Bella's apprehension and turned her back on the bed, reaching out for a covered clay pot in the center of the lineup. Bella watched with mingled curiosity and nerves as she poured a measure of some mystery substance into a clay cup, adding a heaping spoonful of water from the basin. She stirred it vigorously with one of the thin, metal rods, and continued to add water until the small cup was full to the brim with a sunny-yellow elixir.

She turned to Bella with a hopeful smile.

" _Kurkumo,"_ said the child eagerly, and Bella bit her lip. _"Trinki."_

Bella, balking, turned her head sharply when the girl brought the cup to her lips, and the throb in her head felt like a gong struck with a hard, metal mallet. The child backtracked when she saw Bella's distress, but brought the cup hesitantly back to her mouth before Bella shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. Bella, hazy though she felt, knew better than to drink a mystery concoction from a stranger— her Uncle Charlie, a policeman to the core, had drilled that into her before she could even walk.

"No," said Bella. "What is that?"

 _"Nur kurkumo,"_ repeated the child. _"Kurkumo…"_

But when she tipped the cup again and the mixture touched her lips, Bella jerked her head away and scrambled, frightened, to the head of the bed. The child stared at her, hurt and confused, before she placed the cup on a small bedside table and stood awkwardly some three feet from the bed, shuffling her feet.

Bella's heart hammered in her throat.

The silence in the sudden stillness was deafening and Bella, fighting to keep her breath steady, waited until the sudden thrill of pain cleared from her head before she moved again. The child was staring at the floor when Bella swung herself up, and despite the frantic, almost pleading look on the girl's face, Bella forced her feet onto the floor.

She had to find her way out of here.

Her knees shook with bone-rattling tremors when she tried to lift herself up, her feeble, meager weight more than a match for her unused muscles. The feeling of tightness in her legs made her worry spike— she had no idea how long she must have been immobile for her body to grow so thin and her muscles so stiff— but the thought made her throat tighten, and she forced herself to stand with renewed vigor.

When the child saw, she froze, staring horror-struck as Bella tried to shuffle, awkward and hobbling, towards the window.

" _Ne, Mia Damo… Benvolu!"_

Bella, determined not to be touched, shrugged the girl away when she tugged anxiously on the strap of her dress. Bella heard the child sniffle as she scampered after her, her little hands fluttering around Bella as if to catch her if she fell, though what help this tiny slip of a girl would be Bella could not fathom. Her entire body— everything from her baby toes to the very last hair on her head— ignited in varying degrees of soreness when she forced first one foot, and then the other, towards the table by the window, stumbling and quivering the whole way.

She knew before she even made it the whole way there. She knew it when she saw the tips of trees— huge, foreign and swaying. She knew it when she heard the birds shouting their strange calls from those same treetops as they swooped, colourful and huge, through the air outside. She knew when she saw the yard— grassy, lush, and sprawling— and the red, stony wall that encased it. She knew when she saw the heads of strangers, nothing but pinpricks standing in throngs at the base of that same wall, and the riotous, raucous cheering that rose in waves when they caught her movement in the window. She knew when she smelled the air, so fresh and clean, and she knew when she saw nothing but the sprawling, wild grass and the dense, swaying jungle beyond the confines of that red, rock wall.

The child did not have time to catch her before she fell to the floor, landing hard on her backside.

This was not her home. This was not her land. This was not even the right _foreign_ land— the one for which she had been preparing and planning for nigh on six months. These people were not her family. They did not speak her language. They did not understand her words, she did not know who they were, and she did not know what they wanted. She did not know how she had arrived here, or how long she had stayed, but when she felt the child's worried hands on her shoulders, trying to draw her out of her hunch, she jerked away and sat, crying and trembling, on the warm, wooden floor.

" _Gvardio!"_ The girl's high, anxious voice squealed into the tense hush. _"Gvardio!"_

And at once, the door flew open, and Bella caught the briefest sight of a tall, armoured man, with a great, long sword at his waist.

The rushing in her ears drowned out the child's babble as Bella froze in fear, her heart hammering and her mind racing as she fought to make sense of what she was seeing. He loomed over her— tall, broad, and fierce— and when he spoke, he used the same, strange language as the child. He looked like something out of a fairy tale, or perhaps, a medieval nightmare: metal armour painted red and gold, a shield bearing an unfamiliar coat of arms, and his weapon— that long, sharp blade that swung with each loud step he took— drove her heart into her throat.

Her frightened cry made the man wheel around, and reflexively, as if sensing danger, he reached for the hilt of that great blade, his fist resting on the handle. Beyond reason and fearing for her life, Bella cried and scrambled desperately into the shadowy corner, her arms raised in terrible agony to shield her head. The man halted at once and the child, babbling desperately at him, sent him running back through the door with only a moment's hesitation. It was only when Bella saw his boots disappear and the door bang shut that she felt her last vestiges of control slipping, and the last bits of her sanity unravelled.

And she wept— great, heaving sobs— into the soft, brown skirt around her knees.

"Shh…"The girl hovered anxiously above her, but she kept her hands to herself. "Shh, _Mia Damo, ĉio bonas. Ĉio bonas…"_

The babble made Bella tremble and she fought, hard, to keep at least some of her dignity. The child plopped down on her knees before her, her lip between her teeth, and though she glanced nervously towards the door as Bella cried, it was only when it flew open again that she rose to her feet.

Bella, frightened and trembling at the thought of the returning soldier, did not look at this new face, but saw only a different pair of dirty boots peeking out from the cuffs of loose breeches. These breeches were made from brown cloth, not armoured steel, and they seemed to be made from a fabric similar to Bella's dress. These mystery feet rocked back and forth on their toes as their owner babbled with the girl and Bella, her lip pressed so hard between her teeth that she tasted blood, fought to control herself. She stared at those feet as if they might do her some further injury, and she dabbed anxiously at the wet tear stain on her rumpled skirt.

Bella only stopped her fussing when the newcomer stepped carefully forward, coming to rest not two feet away from her. Terrified at the thought of another sword— who in the hell even _carried_ swords anymore?— she glanced up carefully, fully aware that her eyes would be red and puffy, and her lip, worn raw.

The boy— for it _was_ only a boy— was alight with such mysterious and misplaced excitement that it took Bella a moment to place him. She stared at him, confused, yet with the distinct feeling of familiarity. She fought hard to sift through her panic to reach the realm of memory, where she was sure this figure was stored.

She saw long, gangling legs attached to a tall and skinny body. The calloused hands by his sides were tipped by long fingers and dirty, ragged fingernails. Hair as bright and golden as a honeybee's hive lay in thick curls about his head, and pale skin, tanned brown from the blistering sun, covered his face and chest. He had a handsome face— not quite a man's, but older and more shapely than a boy's— and on that face were eyes… eyes such as Bella had only ever seen once before.

They were eyes of bright, sapphire blue that plowed into her like a truck, the questioning worry etched there like it had been carved with a chisel. Those eyes stared worriedly at her as the mouth formed words, but Bella could not hear them. They stared at her when their owner reached down with tentative, outstretched fingers, and when he touched her, his hands were cool. The touch made her flinch— a violent, involuntary motion that drove away all rational thought, and all at once, to Bella's horror, the floor disappeared. Gone was the room with its high windows and blue walls. Gone was the floor beneath her, and the great, cushioned bed. Gone was the girl, and gone was the boy, and gone was her dress and his thick, muddy boots…

Her fists curled on the ground, and, like a memory come to life, she felt sand— rough, hot sand that snuck down her back to hide in her shirt, tangle in her hair, and fill her dry, parched mouth. Sun beat down on her back, blistering and hot, and she felt the seatbelt on her waist. She was falling… soaring, and screaming, and crying, and tumbling, headlong into a turbulent ocean…

The blaring sirens. The roaring engines. The screaming child— oh, how he had screamed— and the blood… so much blood, all over his hands. The world turned topsy-turvy in a halo of smoke, and the fire— that red, blazing, blistering inferno that roared just behind her— always too close. The bone-shattering impact. The water at her feet. And the pain— that aching, skull-crushing pain on the back of her head— before the blackness.

And those eyes— those sad and worried sapphire eyes— were the last thing she saw as her vision melted away, and she sank, petrified, onto the floor at his feet.

 **Translations:**

 _Mia Damo?  
_ My Lady

 _Ĉu io doloras?  
_ Does anything hurt?

 _Doloro  
_ Pain

 _Kurkumo  
_ Turmeric

 _Trinki  
_ Drink

 _Nur kurkumo  
_ Only turmeric

 _Ne, Mia Damo… Benvolu!  
_ No, My Lady… Please!

 _Gvardio!  
_ Guard!

 _Ĉio bonas  
_ All is well


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The world had gone silent.

Standing on the shore of a lonely beach in the midst of a cold and stormy Washington summer, Bella stared, eyes fixed on the distant, turbulent horizon. The ground beneath her was cold and wet, and water— salty, icy seawater— seeped through her skirt as the waves lapped the shore. The chill on her back was piercing, driving through her like a knife, yet it was a welcome sting, despite the ache it left in her bones. That pain spoke of home, and of countless days spent just like this, among the rocks and driftwood while she watched the waves, and the surf, and the ebbing and flowing tides. It spoke of rain, pelting down in sheets as if the skies themselves had opened up in grief, and of storms, with lightning as bright as sunshine and thunder as loud as a thousand sprinting horses. It spoke of family— of that luscious, impending warmth that always met her at the back door of her uncle's house— and of love, which burned hotter and fiercer than any hearth ever could.

Bella fisted her hands in the sand, though she knew it to be nothing but the ghost of a memory, and clenched her eyes shut, wishing that she could be, by sheer force of will, back on First Beach, with her family, and her friends, and her home.

But she knew, even as she squirmed uncomfortably beneath the blankets and furs piled at her feet, that such things were not possible.

She was _not_ home. She was _not_ cold. She was _not_ with her uncle, or her friends, or her family, but rather _here_ , in this strange land, where no one spoke her language, and where she was so, so weak.

The cold Pacific sand disappeared the moment she opened her eyes and she blinked, wakeful and restless, against the burgeoning light of the early morning sun. She could see the first orange rays peeking through the thin line of clouds above the distant trees outside the windows, and as she watched, torn between wonder and despair, the shadows stretched and grew, and light crept across the floor.

She laid there, still and silent, until the sun hit her face, and she was forced, eyes streaming, to turn away.

The room was empty. Sitting up carefully in the bed— the strange doctor had allowed her that much freedom— Bella peeled the cotton sheet away from her legs and squirmed, stiff and sore, until her back rested against the ornate headboard at the head of the bed. Thick and squishy pillows cushioned her back against the sharp edges of the carved wood. Her hair, tousled from sleep, hung in her face like a scraggly curtain and she used her good hand to tuck it clumsily behind her ears. The motion was awkward and laborious, and it spoke volumes of her fierce and persistent frailty.

Bella hated that she felt so winded.

Relishing these last few moments to herself, Bella sighed, closing her eyes as the sun rose even higher, crossing first her lips, and then her nose and cheeks. She knew that she did not have long— once the wall of sunshine reached the top of the headboard, the child would return, and Bella would be subjected to all manner of fussing and prodding. If she was particularly unlucky, the medicine man would show up with tinctures and salves for her to drink and slather on her injured and useless body. Sometimes, the child stayed for hours, chattering uselessly at her with such bright and hopeful eyes, as if she half-expected Bella to burst into delighted response in that same, strange tongue. Sometimes she brought a woman with her— a woman Bella had come to recognize as the healer's wife, who doted on Bella as if she were her own little child. This woman petted her, and sang to her, and tucked her into bed as if she were a toddler, rather than a woman, and Bella, confused though she was, tolerated it with grudging acceptance. She supposed it was good of the woman to show such care and though Bella did not know why she did, she was grateful, as she knew that there was very little she could do on her own.

The boy had not returned.

Four days since her collapse on the bedroom floor, and Bella had yet to see so much as a hair from the boy, whose eyes had brought back such horrid, terrifying memories. The very thought of them made her tremble. Her memory of the plane— for she was sure, now, that _that's_ what it was— was branded on her brain in fire and smoke, and when she closed her eyes, she could still see it. The bruise around her middle from the lap belt, still brown and tender, told her just how hard the impact had been. The constant ache in her head, which the healer could not ease, reminded her of that final, punishing blow— though what had caused it, Bella could not recall. It had stopped bleeding some time ago, but even now, when Bella brought a hand to her head, she felt its sting. Her arm, still wrapped in its splint, was far less colourful than it had been the day she'd woken, but it still smarted and pulled when she tried to flex her fingers beneath the bandages. Most of these injuries had been inventoried over and over by both Bella and the healer, and though Bella had tried to ask him questions, the language barrier had proven a fierce and able adversary.

The full face of the sun— white hot and blazing— glowed through the eastern window and Bella, her face turned away, heard a soft shuffling outside the door.

Words, low and soft, were exchanged between the mysterious, armed watchman who held vigil outside her rooms and a visitor— no doubt the healer, or the girl, or the woman. Bella blushed when she thought of the man outside— the strong, silent sentry who stood guard outside her door— embarrassed by the way she had nearly wet herself with fright at the very sight of him. Bella was still not comfortable with the sword at his waist— she had seen it a number of times, glinting and shining in the light from the small window on the landing outside the antechamber— but she had come to understand that he meant her no harm. In fact, though he said nothing at all to her, he seemed kind. He checked on her each morning and afternoon, crossing through the antechamber to peek his head inside the bedroom and give her an affirming nod, which he would wait for her to return before he slipped back to his post outside the door. Each time he left her, he gave her a low, deep bow— something with which Bella was not entirely comfortable, but which she did not have the energy or power to protest.

If truth be told, Bella had begun to suspect that he was there for her safety, rather than her confinement. She had no idea _why_ he stood there, day after day, nor who had set him such a tedious task, but when she sat alone in the bedroom, staring into the empty silence, she was glad to know that he was there, even if he could not speak to her.

The voices outside grew louder and Bella, heaving a great sigh, swung her legs laboriously over the edge of the bed. She did not bother to right the blankets— she was decent, covered as she was by the long, brown dress, and she was so far beyond caring about her unkempt hair in the presence of any of her visitors. The first time the healer had examined her in full, waking consciousness, Bella had been mortified. She had not showered or brushed her teeth in ages, and even though she had done nothing but lay, useless and weak, in her bed, she felt so grimy that her face had glowed red when the man had put his hands on her.

But her hygiene— or lack thereof— did not seem to bother him and he focused, serious and concentrated, on her laundry list of complaints. She could not voice them to him— not in any way he might understand— but he seemed to know them nonetheless, always checking her head, her ribs, and her arm before he moved on to smaller, less troublesome injuries.

Careful, and always mindful of the low rumble from the antechamber, Bella rose on shaky legs to stand, stretching as best she could in the fresh air by the window. As much as it frightened her, she was not impervious to the beauty of this strange place, and she took a moment to admire the dawning jungle in the distance before she turned, her hand poised on the table for balance, and lowered herself onto a high-seated wooden chair. The doctor would not be pleased to see her out of bed alone— both he and the woman grew agitated whenever they caught her at it— but Bella was determined. She could not stay abed for the rest of her life, and the longer she lingered, weak and useless, the longer it would be before she could leave this room and find her way home.

For she knew— as surely as she knew her own name— that she _had_ to find her way home. All she had to do was get back on her feet, and then she could find the water, and maybe a boat, or a phone…

The breeze was still cool and it washed over her face like a gentle, constant wave until there was a knock at the door, and Bella turned around to face it. She smoothed her skirt and ran a careful hand down her hair, but before she could so much as utter an invitation, the latch was pulled, and the great, golden hinges swung inwards. The door fell open with the lightest squeak to reveal a figure on the threshold, and to Bella's astonishment, she saw neither the girl, nor the boy, nor the woman, nor the healer.

This time, it was a man.

A strange, young, and handsome man.

Arms laden with baskets and bags, the figure stood motionless in the doorway. He was tall— Bella was sure that if he stretched, he would be able to grip the upper ledge of the doorframe some eight feet off the ground— and strong. He had a swimmer's build— slim, yet solid, with broad shoulders and long arms. Bella noted the sword at his waist, its blade longer and its handle more ornate than the one belonging to the soldier outside the door, and she forced herself into calmness, lest she make a fool of herself again as she had done the last time. He was clothed strangely, like many of the locals seemed to be, in a plain, old-fashioned tunic made from cream-coloured cotton, with drawstrings at the neck, a loose hem, and tight cuffs at his wrists. His pants were baggy— they hung loosely from his hips, held in place by the same belt upon which the sword was strapped, and he had them folded over at the ankles to fit into the tops of his boots. He watched her with eyes of forest green as she surveyed him, and when Bella realized just how intently she was staring, she felt her pale face flush pink with mortification. Her new complexion earned her a smothered, crooked grin from the stranger, and the slightest hint of breathy laughter. When he turned his head, Bella saw a knot of brown, almost red, hair, tied back with a length of cord that might have been made from brown leather.

He said nothing to her as he took another step inside, shifting awkwardly with his loaded bundles. He watched her for a moment, as if assessing her, and, deciding that there was no reason to stall, he walked up beside her and knelt, unperturbed by her silence, to place the mystery parcels at her feet.

" _Por vi,"_ he said. _"_ _Donacoj de mia popolo."_

"I'm sorry," she said carefully, biting her lip when the man bent down near her. He began to rifle through a burlap sack. "I don't understand."

He gave her a small _"hmm"_ , and continued his search.

"I don't know what language you speak," she tried. "I…"

" _Mi bedaŭras."_

Bella sighed, and his eyes snapped to attention. He watched her with such intensity that Bella felt distinctly awkward, and though he seemed to sense her sudden discomfort, he did not back away.

Instead, as if in offerance, he placed a large, round fruit in her palm, his hands curling around hers in a loose grip when she did not immediately clasp it.

Glancing down, Bella barked a short, humourless laugh.

"A peach?" she asked, bringing the fragrant, orange orb to her nose. It smelled exactly how Bella knew it would— sweet, juicy, and with a hint of earth and soil that was the hallmark of all fruits. The smell made her mouth water— the only food she'd been allowed since waking had been a thin, meager gruel produced from oats and boiled water, prepared by the healer and spoon-fed to her by the girl-child who frequented the room. Bella could not honestly say that she'd had much appetite, but the smell of that peach ignited a deep and grating hunger that announced itself with a snarl in her stomach.

This reaction seemed to delight the man and he smiled— a full, radiant smile— as he reached into the bag for a second time. He pulled out a second fruit, nearly identical to the first, and, producing a knife from his waistband that Bella had not noticed, he made quick work of it. He cut off a piece, his knife slicing through the soft flesh with ease, and offered it to her on the tip of his blade. Bella, flushing red at this new development, took a hesitant, careful bite when he brought it to her lips.

It erupted like a starburst on her tongue. Sweet, and tangy, and oh so juicy, the peach was like manna in her mouth. Never in her life had she tasted anything so sweet, and the minute she'd swallowed it down, the man had another, thicker slice waiting.

Bella ate it, too.

"Thank you," she said, remembering her manners once the second bite had been swallowed. "Do you grow them here?"

The man, staring blankly at her, peered down speculatively at the fruit, before he spoke.

" _Persiko,"_ he said.

"Persiko?" The word felt foreign on her tongue. "What's persiko?"

He grinned at her and nodded, tapping the fruit with the dull edge of his blade.

" _Persiko,"_ he repeated. He offered her another slice. _"Persiko..."_

Bella went to take a bite but the man, his eyes alight with sudden mischief, withheld it with a tut.

" _Persiko,"_ he repeated.

Bella glanced down at the fruit.

"Is that your word for peach?"

" _Persiko."_

"Persiko," she repeated again, and at once, he offered her the slice. Laughing at this bizarre game, Bella swallowed it down. The word was a strange one, and not one that was very useful for conversation, but she realized with a start that the man had actually taught her something. He seemed to realize it too, as the moment the last bite passed her lips, he laid the peach aside on the trestle table and dove, elbow-deep, into a different basket, emerging with his hand around a ripe, almost black avocado.

When Bella said the English word out loud the man stopped and stared at her, his head cocked.

" _Avokado?"_

Bella chuckled.

"Avocado," she agreed. He scooped her out a mouthful, grinning like a fool.

He made her say it again for a second taste.

By the time Bella was sated, her stomach full to bursting, she had learned five new words for five different fruits. Along with peach and avocado, Bella had learned the words for banana, mango, and cherry. Each one of the fruits had been like heaven— she had not realized how much she had missed real food during her internment in this bed, and the man seemed only too happy to feed her.

It was only when she refused the last half of a mango, which the man had polished off himself, that the stranger sat back on the floor before her, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping the wood.

" _Ili pensas vi estas diino,"_ he said quietly, and Bella sighed. " _Ili pensas ke vi estas dia."_

"I don't know what you're saying," Bella sighed, and the man frowned. "I don't know your words."

The man heaved a sigh and bowed his head.

" _Kie estas via hejmo? Kie estas via familio?"_ he said gently, and at once, the bubble of ease and joy he had so miraculously created, popped.

She recognized only one word— _familio._

The sweetness of that peach died on her tongue, fizzling like a lazy, spiralling firework plunging headlong into the water, where it was extinguished with a crackle and a hiss. The laughter that had so pleased the man went with it, and Bella sat, throat thick with sudden emotion, with that one, lonely word ringing through her ears.

" _Familio,"_ she repeated, and the man perked up. "I need to go home."

The man gave her a careful, gentle nod, and though some part of her wanted to leap up with excitement, she knew that he did not understand. His easy agreement meant nothing— he could not know what she had said, for he could not speak her language. No matter how many times she repeated herself, or how many ways she tried to make him understand, she knew that there was nothing to be done— she was stranded here, in more ways than one, and never had she felt more alone in all her life as she did when she realized this truth.

Being stuck was one thing, but being stranded, alone and injured, in a place where she could speak, but not be heard, was a different kind of torture altogether.

And Bella knew— as surely as she knew herself— that this stranger, kind though he was, would never understand.

When they came, sneaking up like an angry, summer storm, the man saw her tears and sighed, any remnants of his playful smile vanishing like smoke. Though he did not say anything, he watched her with an unfathomable expression on his face that said more to her than his words ever could. Bella saw sadness there— a deep, aching melancholy that went far beyond her own, humble tears— and pity. Pity for the hungry, skinny, injured girl high up in this tower room, and pity for her heart, which smarted and throbbed like an open, festering wound. The ache for family, which had been pulsing within her ever since she'd awoken, grew exponentially larger as she dabbed uselessly at her face, and though the man rested a large, hot, and gentle hand on her knee in feeble comfort, her tears continued to fall.

" _Mi bedaŭras,"_ said the man, downcast and solemn. Those green eyes bore into her and Bella, sniffling quietly, accepted the handkerchief he offered her from the basket at his knee.

" _Mi bedaŭras,_ _dolĉulino."_

"Please…" She fought to get ahold of herself. "Please."

The man stared avidly at her, his eyes tracing her lips in an effort to make sense of her words. She knew he did not understand when he continued to watch her, gears turning frantically in his head as she continued to speak, but she could not stop herself.

"Please," she said. "Please… I need to go home. _Please._ Tell me how to get home."

But the man simply stared at her, a furrow between his brows, while Bella sat unanswered, another little piece of her heart falling away at her feet.

 **Translations**

 _Por vi. Donacoj de mia popolo.  
_ For you. Gifts from my people

 _Mi bedaŭras._  
I'm sorry.

 _Persiko  
_ Peach

 _Ili pensas vi estas diino._ _Ili pensas ke vi estas dia.  
_ They think you are a goddess. They think you are divine.

 _Kie estas via hejmo? Kie estas via familio?  
_ Where is your home? Where is your family?

 _Mi bedaŭras,_ _dolĉulino.  
_ I'm sorry, sweetheart.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **A/N: Chapters will come weekly as of this update. Right now I'm still on holiday, but my teaching placement starts on Tuesday. Once that placement is finished, I'll be back in classes for the remainder of the school year. I hope you all stick with me.**

 **Thanks for all your love and support.**

The days fell like flies, dropping to the floor in a crumpled heap in the exhausting, relentless heat of the blazing summer sun. Nightmarish slumber turned to endless daytime drudgery as Bella sat, weak and exhausted, between the bright, blue walls in the tall tower room. She wanted to move. She wanted to _act._ She wanted to rise, and triumph, and seek her escape from this island refuge, but try as she might, the endless cycle of restless sleep and disturbed, monotonous waking did not end.

When she rose each morning, her knees quaked like those of a newborn colt. When she laid down to bed at night, the throbbing in her head and the ache in her back flared like fire. When she ate, her stomach rebelled in spasms and cramps, and when she wetted her lips with a cup of water, thoughtfully poured by the healer's wife, she could still taste the salty, coppery tang of blood on her tongue.

Her bruises faded from black to blue, and from blue to a mottled greenish-brown that throbbed all day and itched all night. She scratched herself raw— each healing wound, no matter how large or small, itched like the devil, and though she knew better than to rake her nails across her freshly knitted skin, sometimes, when she was tired or frustrated, she could not help herself. How often had she felt the warm trickle of blood as her fingernails, bitten ragged and sharp, pressed down to ease the itch that seemed to emanate from the very bones themselves? The pain was delicious— such a distraction from the ever-lasting, irksome tickle— and though she knew the doctor would grow sharp and surly, she relished it nonetheless.

She spent her days in bed, desperate to leave, yet incapable of motion. The child was her constant companion— the little, waif-like girl who'd Bella learned was called Alice braided her hair, polished her fingernails, and chattered away so quickly and amiably that Bella, by sheer proximity, learned a few phrases in the Maronese language.

She had learned how to say _yes, no, please, thank you, water, ocean, sick,_ and _my name is Bella._

That last one had delighted the child beyond all reason, and she'd stared at Bella with abject glee when those last, stunted words had passed her unschooled lips. That joy had been followed by a bombardment of quick, chirping phrases that were still beyond Bella's comprehension or recognition, but her reignited ignorance had not deterred the girl, who had duly and insistently began her own curriculum of education to bring Bella up to speed.

She taught her sun. She taught her moon. She taught her bed, and pillow, and window. Bella learned that the great, colorful birds who sometimes left plumes of green and red on her window sill were called _papagoj._ She learned that the proper term for the doctor was _kuracisto._ She learned to say _mi estas varmega_ when she grew too warm, or _mi estas malvarma_ when the chills took over and she needed another blanket. Alice taught her how to how to say _kapo_ and _ripoj_ when the doctor asked her where it hurt, and _juko_ to explain why she had scratched away the healing scab on the back of her scalp.

But these lessons— lessons for which Bella did not feel particularly enthused— were only small reprieves from the monotonous, daily routine that had become her norm. She woke, she ate, she washed, she slept. She woke again, she ate again, she washed again, and she slept again. The healer's wife came each day at noon. The child came at sunrise. Sometimes, Bella wondered just how things really were here— while the girl sat by her bed from dawn until dusk, performing small duties and rituals designed to keep Bella comfortable, Bella was nagged by the notion that the girl should not be here, but in a school, where she could learn her spelling and her sums. In America, where she'd grown up, and in China, where she'd been headed to teach, children did not stay home and tend to strangers like nursemaids all day and night. They went to learn, to better themselves and build a future, and it bothered Bella when she remembered this during the girl's visits. What kind of future was this child cultivating, sitting here, while Bella slept, and fidgeted, and scratched, and brooded? For that was all that Bella ever did, provided she was not crying.

Bella could not be sure, exactly, why she cried. It would hit her in the mornings, when she woke to the sounds of birdsong and wind. Sometimes, it would strike at noon, when the healer's wife, Esme, poked her head in with a radiant smile to contrast Bella's discontent. It struck her while she ate, sweet pineapple turning to ash on her tongue and the thick, sticky porridge made of boiled milk and oats congealing like stones in the back of her throat. It crept in during the long afternoons spent sitting in that high-seated, wooden chair by the window, gazing out on the lazily swaying jungle in the distance. And, more often than not, it came in the middle of the night when she woke in a cold sweat with the memory of roaring engines and a screaming child still ringing in the sudden and overwhelming silence.

And so it was there, in her bed of sweat and tears, that the healer found her in the early morning hours, curled beneath her furs and blankets with the child perched anxiously by her side. He came in softly— he always did— but when he saw how Bella lay, limp and despondent, he moved quickly, and with purpose.

She understood enough of his slow, deliberate speech to know what he wanted.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his fingers coming up to brush the tangled hair from her brow. "You're crying, darling…"

Bella, sniffling pathetically, ran the back of her hand over her face. It came away wet, which did not surprise her, and she bristled beneath the sheets, wracking her brain for the right words. She found them on the tip of her tongue— those elusive, yet desperate missives for the impossible— and when she spoke them, the man's face fell.

"Home," she said, struggling to sit up. "Please. Take me home."

"I do not…" The man shook his head and eased her back onto the bed. "I'm sorry, darling. I don't know how."

And once again, like clockwork, she felt the dreaded sting behind her eyes and she curled tighter into herself, her cheek pressed hard against the pillow.

She did not know how to explain to this man that it was not a childish longing that plagued her and pushed her to such desperation— she _needed_ to go home. She needed her family like she needed water and air. She did not know all the right words. She had only those few, foreign missives that lingered on the edge of her memory to voice her need, but even so, they were not enough. She _knew_ that they were not enough. She needed to tell him so much more— she needed to ask for a boat, or a telephone, or some other way to get word back to the mainland. She needed to find a way back to civilization— _her_ civilization— where she would find her family, and her home, and her friends, and her dog. She did not know how to ask for deliverance from this place— this land of trees, and grass, and armed, sword-wielding men that had taken her under its wing with such ample and generous kindness. Yet it was this kindness, so freely given, that was so foreign to her and, despite the constant companionship in her waking hours, it made her feel like she had never been so wholly and completely alone.

"Home," she said again, and when the man patted her soothingly on the head, she shook him off. "Please. I need to go _home."_

"Where?" he asked, and Bella felt her face fall.

"Away," she said, gesturing blindly towards the windows. They were the same words she'd used countless times before, to no avail. "Ocean. _Water_. Away…"

But when he stared at her, dumbfounded and speechless, Bella could do nothing to staunch the stormy, turbulent tears that overtook her.

* * *

The child lay curled behind her, her chest against Bella's back as she spoke soft, gentle words that floated through the haze of exhausted misery clouding the room. The healer was gone. His wife had not yet arrived. But the girl, Alice, had come at sunrise, and despite the poor company Bella was providing, she had never faltered or flinched away. Thus far, her morning had been rough. It was a worried day. It was a frightened day. It was a day so full of anxiety, desperation, and rabid, bitter frustration, that it was no wonder it took all of her energy to simply _be._

Alice's hands ran down her back like a rushing waterfall, soothing away the knots that seized her muscles. The pressure brought a fearsome pain— one that Bella felt right down in her bones— but the relief those little hands brought with them when they pulled away made her grateful.

But when she thanked the girl, her voice low and crackly, the child simply shushed her. She sniffled instead, and the girl tutted sadly.

" _Estas bone…_ you're alright," Alice soothed, watching with concern as Bella dabbed at her face again. "You're alright, My Lady."

Bella, no matter how many times she insisted upon it, could not convince Alice to use her given name.

"Thank you, Alice."

"Shh…"

Her hands pressed into a knot. She kneaded it for a few moments and Bella winced at the pressure, but as the butt of Alice's hand pressed into her skin, she felt the hardened muscle easing up.

"Better?" she asked, lifting her little hands away. "Better, My Lady?"

"Better," said Bella gently, though her back still ached and throbbed. "Thank you…"

"Shh."

Bella did as she was told.

"Sad, My Lady?" asked little Alice quietly, and Bella shook her head.

"No…" The lie was bitter. "No."

"You _are_ sad," she said again, and this time, Bella saw her little face fall. "I'm sorry."

Feeling distinctly guilty, Bella shook her head profusely. The child had been trying so hard to cheer her up, but not even Alice could drive away the sorrow that had gripped her heart. Bella did not like to see her so defeated— she had taken Bella's welfare to heart, and the miserable failure with which she'd been met was bound to be discouraging.

"No, Alice," she said again, struggling for the right words. "Not… you."

"Not me?"

"No," Bella said. "Not you. _Home."_

The child grimaced.

"This _is_ home," she said finally and Bella felt an irrational throb of fright, companions to the ones that had become her frequent visitors in days of late. Alice had said this many times before, and did not seem to understand when Bella protested.

"No," she said. "Not home."

"Then where?"

And thus began the cycle.

" _America,"_ said Bella pleadingly. "East."

"No east but the sea," chirped Alice sagely. Bella had heard these words many times before. "No north, or south, or west, either, but the sea."

"No," Bella disagreed. "No, Alice…"

"Yes," said the child simply, and Bella, recognizing her loss, flopped back down onto the pillows.

"I can't stay here," she said, in English this time. Alice cocked her head, curious. "I can't stay here."

"Home," said the girl again. _"_ _Mia Reĝo_ says so."

"What's _Mia Reĝo?"_

Alice balked.

" _He_ is _Mia Reĝo,"_ she said again, looking shocked and surprised. " _Mia Reĝo_ is… him _."_

Bella, struggling, began to stammer.

"What is…" she began. "What does… what does he _do?_ "

"He is the _Ĉefo,"_ replied Alice.

" _Ĉefo?"_ The child stared at her.

"Yes," she said. "He makes the rules."

"What rules?"

A knock on the door, timid and soft, startled them both and they jumped, hearts hammering out of their chests.

"It's too early for Esme," said Alice seriously, glancing speculatively at the rising sun in the eastern window. "It is not even midmorning…"

Bella made to get up, but Alice, scowling and firm, pushed her shoulders back down.

"No," she said, and another knock rang out. "I will go."

And she hopped out of the bed, scampering on tiptoe like a ballerina towards the large, wooden door.

The knock rang out a third time just as Alice cracked it open, poking her head through a small and narrow opening.

"Yes?" Bella heard her ask, and carefully, she pulled the blankets up over her waist. "What is it?"

"Let me in, Ali," said the visitor. "Please?"

"It's not seemly to let a man into a lady's room."

"I'm not a man yet," replied the voice cheekily. "Edward told me so just this morning."

"She is not dressed."

"I _know…"_ Bella saw the tip of a dirty, scuffed boot on the threshold. "But _Onklo_ says she's sad."

"When did he say so?"

"This morning, at the _koncilia kunveno!"_ said the voice. "He said she's _velkanto."_

"No!" hissed Alice, and Bella shifted uncomfortably. "She is not!"

"Let me in, Alice," begged the voice again. "I just want…"

But he began to murmur, and Bella could hear no more.

Back and forth the hisses passed, a secret exchange of words that Bella could not make out. The longer they stood, the more agitated Alice seemed to grow, until finally, Bella heard her let out a vehement _"No!",_ to which the voice said nothing.

"No…" Alice said again. "She is not well."

Bella perked up. The voice outside whispered something in muted, hushed tones. Alice replied almost at once.

"The doctor says…"

" _Onklo_ is wrong," said the voice. "Please, Alice. Let her choose."

And Alice, looking back at Bella with the agony of choice before her, heaved a sigh and pulled open the door, letting Bella's gaze fall on the newcomer with rapt and curious attention.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was the boy— not the man, who'd come to feed her fruit, or the doctor, who came to tend her wounds, but the boy with eyes of sapphire blue. It was the tall, lanky child with the tanned face and golden, floppy curls— the one before whom Bella had become such a bumbling, frightened fool.

When he met her gaze, Bella felt her face heat up like a beacon, and, fighting back the irrational spike of terror that came with the sight of him, she shifted uncomfortably in bed. Alice glared at the boy with hot accusation, her arms crossed over her chest, but when he did nothing untoward, Bella saw her shoulders sag. The boy shuffled awkwardly in the doorway as his eyes flitted between Bella and her keeper, though they eventually settled on Alice, who took pity on him.

"This is _Jasper,_ My Lady," said Alice gently. "He is _la princo."_

"La princo?"

"Yes…" Alice bit her lip. "He the _frato_ of _Mia Reĝo."_

"Frato?" she asked, her voice thin and reedy. The boy grinned eagerly at her.

"Yes," said Alice. "Frato. They have the same mother and father," she explained.

 _Frato._ Brother.

"I've come for you," said the boy, and Bella was startled by the jerk of his chin towards her. "I want to show you something."

"Me?"

"Yes," said the boy. "Do you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"Come with me." The boy rolled his eyes. " _Ekstere_."

"I don't know what that means," said Bella gently. "And I have no clothes."

The brown linen dress— of which she'd been given three identical copies— had been identified as nightclothes by both Alice and Esme. Bella thought them decent, but the one time she had ventured into the bright antechamber with it on, Esme had ushered her back inside so quickly that her head had spun.

"Sure you do," grinned the boy. "Didn't my brother bring you some? He said he would…"

"Your brother?" Bella shook her head. _"Mia Reĝo?"_

The boy scowled at her.

"Yes," he said finally, "but you don't have to call him that."

Bella, confused, kept her mouth shut.

"They must be here…"

"They're here," said Alice quickly, stepping forward to stop the boy's advance towards the bags and baskets along the side wall. "But…"

"What is _eks…_ that word?" asked Bella, interrupting what would have no doubt been another argument. "Do you know how I can get home?"

The boy stared at her before he shook his head, downcast.

"No."

" _Ekstere,"_ said Alice, and Bella paid close attention, "means out _there."_

She pointed a long, dainty finger towards the great windows, and Bella, suddenly alert, nodded her head.

"Outside?" she asked, though the English was lost on them. "I mean... out of the house?"

"Yes," said the boy. "Come. Alice will find you a dress."

Alice scowled at him.

"Yes," said Bella at once, ignoring the frown on Alice's face. "Yes, please…"

The boy grinned foolishly at her.

"I'll be outside with Paolo," said Jasper quickly. "Whenever you're ready, My Lady."

"Please… my name is Bella."

But Jasper, like Alice before him, simply gave her a wry, cheeky grin, and ducked out of the room.

She was positively buzzing with sudden excitement.

"Do I have a dress, Alice?" she asked, and the girl gave a soft nod. "Where is it?"

She reached, elbow-deep, into a bag of soft cloth beneath the trestle table and came back with a handful of creamy, white fabric.

"Here," she said, and Bella stared at the object. "Can you stand, My Lady?"

Bella forced her legs over the edge of the bed and rose tentatively to her feet, ignoring the quake in her knees and the savage protest in her calves and thighs. The stretch was monstrous— she did not know how they could still be so tight after forcing them to move each morning— but she dismissed the sting and gave her best effort to stand, upright and tall.

Alice sighed.

"Here," she said, moving around to Bella's back. "Let me…" The nightdress had a tie at the back to hold it up around her chest, and Alice's deft fingers made quick work of it. The brown linen fell to the ground in a heap and though Bella was left as naked as a jaybird, she could not bring herself to feel ashamed. No matter how much she might not like it, Alice had seen her bare many times before, and it would do no good to hide from her now. Before long, she'd slipped Bella's legs into a familiar pair of underpants— more like shorts than anything else— and Bella felt herself relax.

"Here…" Alice reached over and dropped the new shift over Bella's head, and Bella was immediately struck by the softness of the garment. The brown linen was warm and serviceable, it was true, but this cloth felt like luxury and comfort. It was soft— finely woven from some thin and slippery thread— and even though she was covered, it was airy enough that Bella could feel the warm summer breeze on her back. The sleeves were long and loose— a fact for which Bella was thankful, given the state of her wrapped and swollen arm. The skirt was generous, but not obtrusive, and fell down past her ankles. The top was fitted— not overtight, but tight enough to give her a shape— with a column of tiny, pearlescent buttons that ran down the spine. Alice made quick work of them— her tiny fingers did what Bella's wrapped hand could not— and before long, the last one at the nape of her neck was fastened tight.

"Thank you," said Bella gently. "You're very quick."

Alice simply watched her, an impenetrable, speculative solemnity etched on her face, before she plopped to the ground with a needle and spool of white thread, and began hemming the skirt with expert dexterity.

"Where did you…" Bella asked, but Alice did not falter. Bella did not know the word for _learn,_ and the question died on her tongue. Alice spoke next, however, and seemed to understand the gist of Bella's question.

"My mother," said Alice quietly. "I was the only girl, so she showed me _kudrado."_

" _Kudrado?"_ Bella asked. Her needle slipped through the fabric as though it were water. On her next stitch, she waved the needle playfully at Bella, who suddenly understood the new word.

"Sewing," said Bella gently. "In my language, we call it _sewing."_

Alice did not, as Bella might have, try to repeat the word, but continued raising the hem on the dress as quickly as she could.

"There," she said, sitting back on once she had finished. "It shouldn't get too dirty, provided that you stay out of the mud…"

Instead of pooling on the floor at her feet, the skirt now hung a good inch above her ankle bone.

"Thank you, Alice. You're very kind…"

She started for the door.

Had Bella not been so startled, the look of abject shock on the child's face would have made her laugh.

"Ah! No!" Alice grabbed her gently by her good arm. "No, My Lady…"

Bella halted at once.

"No…" Despite her seemingly dull mood at Bella's unexpected departure, there was a distinct twinkle of amused chagrin in her eyes when Bella met her gaze. "Not yet…"

Bella, frowning, watched as Alice dug through the bag of clothing again, this time emerging with a long, forest-green vest. Bella was silent as Alice slipped her arms through the holes, this time fastening the front of the garment with larger, black buttons the size of pennies. A belt was tied next— not a utility belt that held scabbards and swords, but a dark brown, woven thing that Alice tied in an artful knot at her hip. A pair of sandals— plain, yet sturdy— were placed on her feet, and before Bella could even _think_ of the door again, Alice pushed her gently into the wooden chair by the window.

"Stay," she said softly, frowning at Bella when she tried to rise. "Sit."

Bella, impatient, tapped her fingers on the trestle table. Alice rummaged in a wooden crate by the door, muttering under her breath in whispers and huffs until she emerged, victorious, with a large paddle brush held aloft.

" _Broso,"_ she said easily, brandishing the thing towards Bella. It was made of wood, like Bella had come to expect, but instead of the plastic bristles she was used to, this one was topped with thick, coarse animal hair fastened in bundles. Bella grimaced when Alice began to detangle the ends of her long, neglected hair, taking care not to tug at the bruises and scrapes that still marred her scalp. It was a difficult feat, and a time-consuming one, but by the time the girl was finished, it lay down her back in an illusion of order. Bella knew there were persistent, angry tangles at the nape of her neck that not even Alice's thorough hands could undo in such a short sitting, but for the most part, her tresses sat calmly over her shoulders.

"Good," said Alice gently. "Good, Lady."

"Thank you…" Bella hefted herself off of her chair with some difficulty. The straps on the sandals felt strange on her feet— it had been some time since she'd worn shoes— but when she righted herself, balancing easily on the thick, wooden platforms, she took a few successful steps forward.

"Good," praised Alice again. "Good… _atentu."_

 _Be careful._

"I will," said Bella quickly, her sudden excitement making her pulse spike. "I will be careful."

Alice simply watched her, an unfathomable expression on her face, as Bella maneuvered slowly, but surely, towards the door.

 **Translations:**

 _Papagoj  
_ Parrotts

 _Kuracisto  
_ Doctor

 _Mi estas varmega  
_ I'm hot

 _Mi estas malvarma  
_ I'm cold

 _Kapo  
_ Head

 _Ripoj  
_ Ribs

 _Juko  
_ Itch

 _Estas bone  
_ You're alright

 _Mia Reĝo_  
My King

 _Ĉefo_  
Leader

 _Onklo  
_ Uncle

 _Koncilia kunveno  
_ Council meeting

 _Velkanto  
_ Fading

 _La princo  
_ The prince

 _Frato  
_ Brother

 _Ekstere_  
Outside

 _Kudrado  
_ Sewing

 _Atentu  
_ Be careful


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The boy was waiting with his hands behind his back, resting against the tower window that overlooked the grounds while he chatted amiably with the sentry outside her door. The guard, Paolo, started when he saw her, and at once, as if he were a child caught at some mischief, he straightened and stared fixedly ahead, shame-faced and silent. Bella fought the urge to chuckle. What little she could see of his face was red and blotchy, and though she gave him a reassuring smile, it did not ease as she made her way across the threshold.

He bowed to her in response, and then it was Bella's turn to blush.

The boy beamed at her when she approached, his face alight with sudden excitement. He loped over to her with long, purposeful strides, and, as if he _knew_ she was weak, he hooked her good arm around his own.

"Come," he said. He gave her a small tug. "Can you make the stairs?"

"I think so," said Bella. "If we move slowly."

And obligingly, the boy took the stairs ahead of her, letting her lean on his arm as they moved, as slow as snails, down the long, winding staircase.

" _Onklo_ thinks you are too weak," said the boy quietly. "He says you're sad."

"What is _Onklo?"_ Bella asked. She felt winded and tired.

" _Onklo,"_ repeated the boy. "The doctor."

" _Onklo?"_

"Well… for me and my brother," said Jasper. "To others, he is the healer."

"I see…"

"His wife is my mother's _fratino."_

"Like _frato?"_ Bella asked. The boy nodded. "Then she is your… aunt."

The English made him chuckle.

" _Onklino,"_ he corrected. _"Onklino_ Esme. My aunt Esme."

"I see…"

"Yes." They reached a landing and Jasper, accommodating Bella's quavering knees and winded breaths, led her to a bench beneath an arrow-slit window. She sat down gratefully and he perched next to her, kicking his feet.

"What is _Princo?"_ asked Bella softly, earning a grimace from the boy. "I do not know that word."

"It is… _princo,"_ he finished lamely. "I do not know how else to say it."

He seemed to ponder.

"It is like… _Reĝo,"_ he finished. "Only less."

"I do not know that word, either."

" _Reĝo_ is Edward," said Jasper easily. "You know Edward."

"No."

Jasper stared at her.

"Oh. Well… _Princo_ is like him. He used to be _princo,_ before he became _Reĝo."_

But Bella, still confused, was no closer to understanding than she had been before, and the conversation dropped like a stone. It was only when they began to move again, Bella forcing her legs to carry her on, that she breathed out another question.

"Can you take me to the water?" asked Bella, and Jasper frowned.

"Water?" he asked. "What water?"

" _Oceano,"_ she replied. "Ocean."

"It is far," said Jasper quietly. "Too far for you, I think."

Bella bit her lip.

"Why do you want the water?"

"I need to get home," she said, and this time, Jasper looked sad. "My family will be worried."

"Your family?"

"Yes…"

"It is too far," he said again, and this time, Bella thought she caught a hint of disappointment. "Too far for you yet."

"Do you have a _telephone?"_

The boy blinked at her.

"...no," he said finally. "I do not know what _telephone_ means."

Bella muffled her groan.

"Where _are_ you taking me, then?" she asked gently. "I know outside… but what is outside?"

And in the strange, mercurial way of youth, the boy's mood shifted again and he gave her a wide, cheeky grin.

"I can't tell you," he said mysteriously. "It is _surprizo."_

Bella, finally reaching the flat landing at the bottom of the staircase, gave a soft huff, but did not push him any further. She might not know what awaited her outside, but it had to be better than what lingered inside. She was sick of that room, and that bed, with the trestle table full of herbs and spices that were being constantly forced down her throat. It was better than the mural— that tall, sprawling scene of verdant trees and blazing, orange hearthfires. Already the air was cooler— Bella did not know how high up she had been, but basic knowledge of thermodynamics told her that heat always rises, and though the room was breezy and airy, it was as hot as Hades when the sun beamed in. The cool stone on these lower levels chilled the sweat on back of her neck where a draft blew her hair away, and she relished the feeling. Nothing here was _ever_ cold enough…

"Come," said Jasper again. He tugged insistently on her hand. "Not far now…"

Bella forced herself to move— her legs were stiff, screaming their protest at this sudden abuse, but she would not relent. The movement was freeing— while her body might not appreciate it, her mind certainly did, and she trailed after the boy with as much speed and enthusiasm as she could muster.

"How far?" she asked, blinking when the boy cracked open a tall, thick, wooden door. The sound of creaking hinges bounced off the stone.

"Not far," said the boy. "But come."

Bella plodded on.

The bright, early sun beat down like a furnace on Bella's pale and tired face, and at once, she halted, bringing her bandaged hand up to shield her eyes. The boy stopped too, glancing curiously at her as she blinked away the blooms of red and blue that flitted across her vision, to lay her eyes on the strange and unbelievable scene before her.

The red-bricked walls that Bella could see from her window stood before her, not 200 yards ahead. With the tops reaching two stories high and the base spanning at least twenty feet thick, this seamless, monstrous structure ran in a great, circular arc so long that Bella could not make out where it might end. She shielded her eyes as she looked up to the top, squinting into the white-hot light to see a widened walkway, upon which two armoured men walked abreast. Bella could see, in the distance, how the walkway protruded out from the main wall itself, its strange, hourglass profile giving the men enough space to move safely across. The boy chuckled at her sudden and abject fascination, and when she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently urging her to turn, she felt her mouth grow dry.

Behind her, laid out in sprawling, majestic grandeur, was a castle. With walls as red as those around the perimeter and a height jutting up at least four stories, the building was massive, striking, and absolutely mesmerizing. Leaning back to get a better look, Bella froze, the sheer magnitude of this structure sending her into a whirlwind. High, straight walls were topped with tall, curving battlements. Wide walkways lined with low walls and square crenels ran the length of the structure, and where each set of corners met, a large, round watchtower had been erected. Their bases were buried deep in the earth, bricks perfectly sculpted to mould together in seamless curvature, but the tops of the conical rooves jutted high over the rest of the fortress. In a window above the battlements Bella saw the small figure of a man. He stood motionless, looking out beyond the ramparts to whatever land lay beyond, the silver of his armour glinting in the sun.

"What is this place?" Bella asked, regaining the use of her tongue as she forced herself to back up even further, her eyes still fixed on the tower. "Where _are_ we?"

Jasper reached out and took hold of her shoulders again— and it was a good thing too, for no sooner had he touched her that she stumbled back over a buried stone.

"Home," he said simply, steadying her with careful hands. "This is home."

"Whose home?" she asked, and the boy chuckled.

"Mine…" he teased. "And Edward's."

"Edward. _Mia Reĝo."_

The boy rolled his eyes, but spoke again.

"And I suppose…"

Bella blinked, turning around to face him. The boy was tall. Young though he was, she found herself looking up at him, rather than down.

"You suppose?" she prompted.

"I suppose that it's _your_ home, too," he said. "Seeing as you've got no other."

Bella felt her face fall.

"That's not a bad thing," the boy backtracked quickly. "It's a _good_ thing. It is a very nice house, and…"

Bella plastered a false smile on her face to placate him.

"It is nice," she said mildly, her mind raging against this severe understatement. "It's very… big."

"Well," Jasper grinned carefully at her, seemingly pleased with her new reaction, "it's not all house, of course."

"No?"

"No." He ushered her towards the rear. "That part in the middle is house, but the rest of it is the _Ŝtataj Ĉambroj."_

"The what?"

"The… rooms," said Jasper carefully. He pointed to a low-lying, long portion of the castle, only two stories high, with wide windows and a narrow, almost hidden, door. "Those rooms."

Bella stared, blinking stupidly.

"That's where they…" the boy faltered, "make decisions."

"Decisions?" Bella frowned. "What decisions?"

"All decisions," said Jasper. "Laws, and rules, and _traktatoj…"_

Bella, confused, shook her head.

"I don't…"

"No matter." Jasper steered her away. "That's not what I want to show you."

Bella, craning her neck to catch a last glimpse of the low-lying wing, followed reluctantly behind him. Though she was weak and slow, something in her had ignited with a determined curiosity that was so unexpected and fierce that she wondered, for only a moment, how long it would take her to explore.

"Come," said Jasper again. "This way…"

Bella was tugged insistently along, plodding slowly through the green grass around the castle, until, breathless and exhausted, they came upon a different building. The castle lay behind them, tall and proud atop a gently sloping hill, and if Bella had been given a moment to pause, she would have admired the size and scale of the building from afar. As it was, however, Jasper pulled her along, his fingers entwined carefully with her good ones, until they reached the door of a long, flat edifice with a strange, mysterious odor emanating from it. It smelled musky, as if something unwashed and untended lay beyond, and of raw meat, bloody and warm. Bella brought a hand to her nose with a frown.

"What is it?" asked Bella, blinking down between the wooden slats of the walls. She could hear nothing from inside, and though the gaps between the boards were wide, the darkness within made its contents invisible to her.

"Come," said Jasper excitedly. "Come, My Lady…"

"I…"

He swung the door open and Bella felt him tug her forward. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving them in near darkness as they stood, motionless on a bed of straw. Hard, brittle stalks slipped beneath her toes and tickled her feet, and she carefully kicked it away.

Focused on the ground Bella barely heard the sound, but when she did, she felt her pulse accelerate. It was a low, growling rumble rising from one of the alcoves near the end of the row, and at once, her head snapped up.

When her eyes raked over the room, she froze.

Eyes— dozens of pairs of bright, shining eyes— peered out at her from countless recesses along the wall. The cages were dark and cavernous— deep, by the looks of them— and the entrances were covered with what looked like wooden slats for bars. Something in the nearest one shifted, and Bella could have sworn she heard a whine. It was trailed by a low growl— she could not mistake it, this time— and she halted at once, her heart hammering in her throat.

"Come!" Jasper chuckled at her, and to her horror, he reached for the latch on the nearest cage. "Come, My Lady!"

"No…"

"Come!" he insisted, and Bella watched his hand shift towards the wooden latch. "Come!"

"What are they?" asked Bella, but the boy merely grinned. "What is it, Jasper?"

And, without an answer, Bella saw his hand twitch on the bolt. Before she could protest— before she could even _react—_ the door swung open, and Bella heard a sinister shifting from inside the crate.

The room went eerily silent. The smile on the boy's face— or was it a _smirk?_ — tied Bella's stomach in knots as the thing, whatever it was, began to slouch out of its pen. She bit back a whimper as a mass of fur as high as her waist with huge, lumbering paws began to creep forward, its gait nearly silent on the dry, crunching straw. The boy chuckled when it brought its head up, shaking out its pelt as an eye— a great, orange eye— met Bella's gaze in an unblinking stare. She faced off with the thing, unable to _think_ through her terror, before she lost her nerve and stumbled back, terrified. Bella saw, as if in slow motion, how her movement made the beast bristle, and at once, it rose to full height and leaned towards her.

Bella screamed when it rushed her.

With a quick motion that almost missed her, Jasper ran forward and caught her, setting her carefully on her scrabbling feet as the beast— whatever it was— continued forward. The boy seemed stricken by her reaction— the sudden apprehension on his handsome, boyish face spoke volumes— and Bella cowered against the far wall, her good hand held out in a useless, desperate plea.

" _Sube,_ Leah!" barked Jasper. _"Facila. Ĝentila…"_

And, miraculously, the creature halted, stopping dead in its tracks before it cocked its head with a whimper.

Bella bit back tears as she stared at the thing, its great muzzle not six inches from her outstretched hand.

"Don't be afraid, My Lady," said Jasper quickly. He reached a hand out towards the creature's face. "She won't hurt you. She's very friendly."

Bella, speechless and stricken, said nothing.

"See?" he said, and Bella watched with rising nerves as a flat, pink tongue poked out to lap at his fingers. "She is very kind…"

Jasper reached back behind them and Bella heard his fingers on the handle of the door before he gave it a firm, strong tug, and it swung open again. Light spilled in, falling over the creature's face and flanks, and at once, Bella felt a shaky, if not altogether _satisfying_ , relief.

Standing before her, its head cocked in curious wonderment, was a massive, hairy dog. Its fur was a light grey— so pale that it might have looked white in any other light— and though it was _huge,_ Bella could not mistake the sight of its great, bushy tail waving frantically through the air. Its ears were pinned back in silent submission and its chin jutted out, snuffling curiously towards Bella's outstretched fingers. Though Bella's heart still hammered and her eyes were suspiciously misty, she saw that while the creature was large and intimidating, it meant her no ill will.

It licked Jasper's fingers when he patted it again, before it turned its bright, curious eyes back to Bella.

"I'm sorry," said Jasper quietly, looking for all the world as if _she_ had frightened _him_. "I didn't know she would scare you…"

Bella sighed, her knees shaking worse than ever, and sank down on a rough-hewn log against the wall, shaking her head.

"It's very big," she said quietly. "Are they all like that?"

"Yes," said Jasper, and the dog thumped its tail again. "Her name is Leah. She's my brother's best _ĉasisto."_

" _Ĉasisto_?"

"Yes…" Jasper bit his lip. "You know…"

"No, I don't," said Bella quietly. The dog shifted again, but did not move from its spot.

"She goes into the woods," explained Jasper awkwardly. "With my brother. And together, they catch _cervoj._ Or _kokinoj._ "

"I…" Bella shook her head furiously. "I don't understand."

The boy blew out a breath.

"Animals," he finished lamely. "They catch animals. To eat."

"Hunting?" Bella asked, but this time, the boy did not understand. "Animals to eat?"

"Yes!" Jasper beamed at her. "It's called _ĉasisto."_

Bella sighed. The dog, Leah, whined.

"She wants to smell you," hedged Jasper, and Bella, taken aback, shifted her attention back to the dog. "I promise, she won't bite…"

That tail— fluffy, fat, and eager— thumped a rhythm on the wooden floor. As if to prove him right, her flat, pink tongue laved up the boy's forearm.

"That's how she knows us," said Jasper quietly. "By smelling. She's well trained, and she's the _Alfa..._ "

"Alfa?"

"The boss. Of the group," said Jasper eagerly. "All the other dogs follow her. Most are her children. Once Leah knows you, they all do."

The dog took a step forward and Bella gave an involuntary shiver. She was so much bigger than Boomer, the lab-husky mix her uncle had bought her so many years ago when she was still in high school. When she stood at full height, Bella was sure that Leah's nose would come up past her elbow, and the sheer size of her head gave Bella reason to pause. It would take only one bite from those massive, powerful jaws to snap her arm clean off, and Bella doubted that even the healer, with all his wisdom and care, would be able to save her then.

"Look," said Jasper gently. Bella felt her body clench when he thrust his arm, hand and all, into the dog's open, panting mouth, wiggling it playfully against the razor-sharp teeth. The dog kept still, neither perturbed nor annoyed by this sudden invasion, and after a moment of motionless waiting, it was only her tongue that came out, lapping once again at the skin of his hand.

"Give me your hand," said Jasper quietly and Bella, though she was positively petrified, rested the back of her good hand in Jasper's slobbery palm.

She closed her eyes when he held it out to the dog's face, and she flinched when she felt the cold, wet nose snuffling at her wrist.

"Good girl," said Jasper enthusiastically, and Bella did not open her eyes to see whether he was talking to her or the dog. "See, My Lady? Not so bad."

And when Bella felt the pink tongue on her own fingers— hesitant and gentle— she cracked her eyes open and stared down, blinking, at the furry, focused face.

"No," Bella said finally, her voice shaking and her heart racing. "Not so bad."

And, with more courage than she thought possible, she reached out her bandaged hand, and rested it gently on the beast's great head. When she wiggled her fingers behind its ear the dog groaned, plopped itself down at her feet, and leaned its great weight against her legs. It rested its jaw on Bella's lap and when she felt its wet tongue again, Bella gave a reluctant smile.

"See?" Jasper grinned, and Bella, feeling the fear draining slowly away, gave him a grin. "She's not so scary…"

"No," she agreed finally. "Not so bad."

The boy beamed at her.

* * *

Arm-in-arm with the boy, Bella walked through the grassy fields along the northern edge of the castle grounds, the bright sun on her back and the snuffling noses of three hunting dogs on her heels. The wind was delicious. Cool and breezy, it blew over her face and neck, carrying the scent of fresh grass, verdant jungle, and a hint of aromatic vanilla from the open door to the castle kitchens, far off in the distance. The air was hot, though not unbearable, and while Bella had grown used to the sticky, humid air upstairs in her bedchamber, the openness of the field and the dampness of the grass on her sandaled feet had muted the heat to more tolerable levels. Her legs were burning— the ache in her thighs felt like she had walked for miles— and when her step began to lag, the boy laid out his blanket in the shade of a tall coconut tree that cast its shadow over a long swath of ground.

"Here," he said, and the dogs stopped with him. The blanket was thick and heavy, made of some scratchy, grey fibers, and when Jasper helped Bella down onto it, she pressed the heels of her hand into the shaking, quivering muscles. He had placed them in the shade of that tree, away from the heat of the direct sunlight, and Bella, sighing in relief, leaned her back against the thick, sloping trunk.

"Thank you," she said, grinning when he plopped down before her, cross-legged. "I'm not as strong as I should be."

The boy simply shrugged.

"Strong enough," he reasoned. "You made it this far."

The castle, far in the distance, seemed a great feat, and Bella did not refute him.

"I suppose," she said. Leah and her two sons— a large, black pup called Brava and his yellow littermate, Mielo— prowled around the tree with curious, snuffling noses, before they, too, took refuge on the blanket. The younger dogs began to tussle in the strip of sunlight at the far end while Leah, calmer and tamer than her rambunctious boys, laid herself at Bella's side, her long body pressed against the length of Bella's leg.

Bella patted her gently on the side and the dog pressed even harder against her, bearing her belly.

Bella, obedient, gave it a good scratch.

"She likes you," said Jasper pleasantly. "I'm sorry she scared you."

"It's alright," said Bella, her cheeks pink. "We're friends now, I think."

Jasper sighed.

"Are you very tired?" he asked quietly. "Alice told me you might be, and I promised her I'd take you back if you were."

"No," said Bella, though the ache in her legs would beg to differ. "Not yet…"

"As you wish," said the boy, and he flopped onto his back. Sun hit his face, blazing and hot, and Bella watched him, a curious tilt to her head.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," grinned the boy. Bella rolled her eyes. "But yes, I suppose you can."

"Were you there when they found me?"

The boy sat up.

"Yes," he said quietly, and this time, his smile did not return. "I was there."

Bella felt her cheeks heat up.

"Was I…"

"You were very hurt," said Jasper quietly, and Bella watched him pick at a stray thread on the blanket. "Very, _very_ hurt. We thought you might be dead."

Bella bit her lip.

"But Emmett and I… we carried you. You rode on Emmett's horse."

"Emmett?"

The boy grimaced.

"My brother's… friend," he said awkwardly. "He and I were on _patrolo."_

The word made her grimace.

"Patrol?" she asked. "For what?"

" _Alia,"_ said the boy mysteriously. "But we found none. We found _you."_

"Alia?"

"You spoke in your strange language, and then you… slept," he said gently. "Not real sleep, but _dead_ sleep."

Bella sighed.

"Where did you find me?"

"On the sand," said the boy easily. "You know that."

"What sand?" asked Bella desperately. "I haven't seen any beaches…"

"No," agreed the boy, "but they're here. To the south."

"Can you take me?" she asked, and the boy balked.

"No." He shifted uncomfortably. "It is very far. Hours of riding."

"Riding?" Bella asked.

"Yes," he said. "And even more hours to walk. You cannot go so far yet, and there is nothing there but sand and water."

"I need a boat," she said, and she saw his face pinch.

"There are no boats to the south," Jasper continued. "Only to the north. And even then, only for _fiŝkaptado_."

Bella frowned at him.

"Only for work," the boy clarified. "Only for men who catch _fiŝo."_

"I don't understand…"

"It doesn't matter," said Jasper sharply, and Bella fell silent. "There is nothing but sea. What would you do with a boat?"

"We were turning for Hawaii," said Bella desperately. "I remember that much. The captain said…"

"I do not know what… _Hawaii_ is," said the boy, "but there is no other land. None but this. I don't know where your home is, but it's not from here. If you got in a boat, all you would do is get lost. And then…"

Bella said nothing.

"And then you really _would_ be dead," he said. "We'd find you on the beach— all the bodies wash up on the beach— and then…"

He trailed off with a frown.

"I need to go home," she said, and this time, he grew angry.

"There is no _home_!" His voice began to rise. "Only here, My Lady!"

He took her by the shoulders, his face mere inches from hers, and Bella started.

"Nowhere!" he said. Bella flinched when he shouted. "Nowhere else!"

"I…"

"Haven't we been kind to you? Haven't we been good?" he demanded, and a wash of guilt flooded over her like a tidal wave.

"I…"

"There is _no home,"_ he repeated, and he released her shoulders with a jolt. Bella saw his hands curl into fists. "Nowhere else… Only the island. Only _Marolando_."

Bella felt her tooth dig so deep into her lip that she tasted blood.

"The world is bigger than you think," she said, swallowing hard against the threat of tears. Leah licked her fingers in consolation. "Far, far bigger…"

The boy snorted at her, his jaw twitching, before he jerked away and sat, brooding, with his head on his knees.

"Why does no one want to stay?" he asked, and Bella, caught off guard, struggled to translate those words in her head. "Why does everyone want to _leave?!"_

And with that, though Bella could do nothing to stop him, he rose to his feet, kicked a stone angrily towards the wall, and took off at a sprint towards the kennels. Mielo and Brava— headstrong and eager to run— followed after him with frantic, yipping barks, leaving Bella and Leah alone in the shade of the tree. Leah rested peacefully with her head on Bella's lap, unperturbed by the boy's sudden and ferocious temper, and Bella simply blinked, reeling with confused shock.

"Now what?" she grumbled, the English flowing from her mouth much easier than Maronese. The dog's ears twitched. "Do you think he's coming back?"

No sooner had she spoken did she turn to face the way he had gone, but she could see nothing but the long, curving wall, and the distant pattern of soldiers moving along the castle battlements. She stretched up, her spine cracking when she arched her back, and, ignoring the pull in her ribs, got slowly to her feet.

Leah rose at once, and watched her carefully for a command.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said, and the dog continued to stare. "Come?"

And when Bella, taking a hobbling, tentative step towards the distant castle, began to move, the dog was right by her side, her furry flank always touching Bella's thigh.

"Good girl," she praised, giving her an indulgent pat on the head. The dog flicked her ears. "Come on, then."

And together, with the blanket draped over her arm and the great, wild dog at her hip, Bella began the slow, laborious trek back up that long, sloping hill, towards the castle, where she was sure to find Alice, some water, and a blessed place to rest her weary feet.

* * *

She had not made it halfway up that hill before her legs finally gave in, and she sank, shaking and exhausted, to the ground.

"That's it," she said dejectedly to Leah, who waited, obedient and patient, by her side. "I'm done."

Bella spread the blanket out beneath her and Leah, quiet and stoic, sat back on her haunches next to her companion. Unable to help herself, Bella laid back on the blanket, ignoring the tickle of grass on the back of her neck, and closed her eyes.

Leah rested her head on Bella's stomach.

She did not know how long she lay there, eyes closed and legs shaking, but when Leah's head snapped up with sudden fervour, Bella cracked an eye open. All at once, she heard it— and how she had ever missed it, she would never know. The sound was so loud that the ground beneath her rumbled, and she pushed herself onto her backside with sudden and disquieting surprise.

Hooves. Pounding, sprinting, hammering hooves, sinking deep into the grassy dirt upon which she lay. She felt the ground begin to shake. She heard a shout— much closer than anticipated— of a man. When she tried to lift herself to her feet, struggling with her broken arm, she saw hair— a cascade of glossy brown, and white, and black, and grey. Manes and tails, flanks and noses… half a dozen horses, all coming to a screeching halt not twenty feet from where she rested.

 _"Mia Damo! Mia Damo… Ĉu vi vundas?"_

She blinked against the sun as a man, taller and broader than any of the others, leapt down from his mount and ran, as fast as his armour would allow, to the edge of her blanket. She grimaced to herself, embarrassed by his fuss, and tried again to rise.

The man leaned down at once, and Bella felt a strong, sturdy hand beneath her good elbow. He hefted her to her feet with ease and Bella stood, determined not to sway, until the man let her go and she leaned against Leah.

"I'm fine," she replied, clearing her throat. "Just fine… We got a little tired, but we're fine."

Leah eyed the man curiously.

"Where did he leave you?" asked the man, and Bella frowned. "Jasper," he clarified. "Where did he leave you?"

"Oh…" Her neck went red as she glanced back the way she had come, towards the tree that had disappeared behind a bend in the wall. "By a tree…"

"Foolish child," snapped the man, and as if she were a child herself, he knelt down in front of her. "Can you walk, My Lady?"

"Yes…" Her legs shook with determination. "But I'm fine here…"

"You must return to the keep," said the man gently. "Everyone is out looking for you. _Mia Reĝo_ has sent every spare guard out to look, and until you're safely returned, they will continue to search."

Bella, flushed red with mortification, glanced nervously at the other five men, still mounted on their horses with their eyes glued curiously on her.

"Come," said the man again. "Bring Leah, if you wish. She's a good girl…"

Bella, glancing gratefully at her companion, rubbed her gently behind the ear and glanced towards the castle, which was still so far.

"I do not think I can, just yet," she admitted, her face as red as a beacon. "My legs…"

"Come," said the man again. "I will lift you. Leah will follow."

"I…" The man gestured invitingly towards the tall, stamping horse, who watched her with its long-lashed, black eye. The beast's shoulder was as high as her head, and when the man led her to the stirrup, she knew she would never make it.

Leah whined when Bella hedged.

"Please, My Lady…" The armoured man offered her a hand. "It is no trouble to lift you…"

But when Bella went to reach for the pommel, her fingers barely high enough to grip it, the horse gave an angry whinny and shifted away, making her stumble. She yelped as she fell, though the man caught her before she could hit the ground, and the horse shuffled nervously when the man began to scold it. When his voice rose to a shout, the chestnut creature trotted lithely away, munching on a patch of long, uncut grass about five feet away.

"Stupid animal!" was all Bella understood as the soldier ranted, gripping the reins tightly in his fist as he drew the animal closer again. "Headstrong beast!"

But Bella, retreating from the snorting head and stamping hooves, fell gently to the ground on her backside, her face in her hands as the other men turned to their commander. The horse jerked away from him again, this time rearing onto its back legs in protest, and the man let go of the reins. The horse, gleeful in its freedom, tossed its defiant head and trotted off towards the outside wall, pausing, as if in challenge, to look back at its irritated master.

"Samuelo!" barked the man, and a smaller, younger soldier stepped forward. "Help the lady up and get her to the castle! That damnable horse…"

But just as the man, Samuelo, reached down to offer her a hand, Bella saw his eyes snap up and he fell, sinking gracefully onto his knee, with his head bowed towards the ground.

The other four men, minus their commander who was leading the horse back to the group, leapt down from their horses and did the same as their comrade, leaving Bella perplexed. Each man sunk into a low, respectful bow, their armoured knees sinking into the dirt, until another voice spoke, and Bella gave a violent, unexpected start.

"Please…" said a voice from behind her. "Please, rise…"

And like marionettes attached to invisible, threadbare strings, they did, rising in one, fluid motion to stand face-to-face with the figure behind her.

When Bella turned around, her eyes went wide.

He looked different in his armour, with his hair in disarray and a shining helmet beneath his arm. His horse— a magnificent and proud stallion of the purest jet black— was equal to, if not bigger than the chestnut creature that had knocked her over. His face was dirty— dust and mud was smeared on his nose and cheeks, but beneath the muck, Bella could make out a smattering of brown, boyish freckles. Sweat poured down his face and glistened on his neck and his sword, which Bella had never seen unsheathed, gleamed in his fist, poised and ready to strike. He had no fruit for her this time, though the thought made her stomach snarl, and she fought to sit herself up properly with her good arm thrust into the dirt. Bella saw his lips move as he spoke to her, though what exactly he said was lost on her, and when she did not answer, his determination melded into concern. When he spoke again and she still did not respond, he leapt down from the saddle of his great, black beast.

"My Lady?" he asked, and Bella blinked in surprise. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry." She struggled again, trying to rise, but his careful hand on her shoulder made her still.

"You can speak," he said, grinning. "I had heard you were learning."

"Alice," said Bella stupidly, and the man's smile widened. "She's an… eager teacher."

"I'm glad," said the man. "Are you hurt, _dolĉulino_? I could kill my brother. He's such a stupid, headstrong boy…"

"No," said Bella, and the man's shoulders dropped. "No, I'm alright."

He stared at her, deep in thought.

"It's past midday," said the man finally. "Come. You must be starved."

Her stomach, singing its song to the heavens, was answer enough, and Bella was glad for the help when he reached down and took her by the hand, pulling her gently upright. Leah followed her towards the horse, who, thankfully, did _not_ slip away when Bella touched the saddle, and the man lifted her with strong, able hands. He sat her sideways, with her knee hooked around the pommel, and she held awkwardly to the sides of the saddle with a white-knuckled grip, her stomach clenching at the fierce and sudden height. The man swung up behind her, pressing his chest to her back, and at once Bella felt secure, with his hard, immovable arms on either side of her torso.

"Edward," said the returning leader, and Bella glanced around. The broad man, having retrieved his wayward horse, was staring at the man behind her, his face solemn and his lips pursed. "What of the boy?"

Bella glanced between them, her mind racing to keep up.

"Find him," said the mystery man, and when Bella glanced behind her again, she thought she saw a distinct grimace of displeasure on his face. "Find him, and bring him to me. This foolishness cannot go unpunished."

"Yes, _Mia Reĝo."_

Bella felt her eyes grow wide.

The man did not see how the realization hit her, nor the inopportune redness of her cheeks, and though Bella caught the questioning gaze of the large soldier in charge, she did not offer any response. Her mind raced to connect the dots, to match this face with that name she'd only ever heard, uttered in reverent tones by everyone besides young Jasper. It made sense— confused, baffled, and embarrassed as she was, Bella could see how the pieces fit together, and when the man urged the horse forward, Bella could have kicked herself for her lack of brains.

The man clicked his tongue and gave a soft tug on the reins, and the horse began to trot, slowly and gently, up the slope of the hill.

Bella stared down at his large, tanned hands, her mind racing as the pieces came together.

Men answered to him. Jasper feared him. These soldiers, all stalwart and sturdy fighters, bent their knees in the dust and the dirt at the very sight of him. Alice revered him. The healer deferred to him. Bella herself owed her life to him, though until now, she had been sure she had never met him before in her life.

He had fed her fruit.

He had given her hope.

This was the man in whom the people trusted. This was the great and powerful mind that sanctified the law. This was the man who, even as he sheathed his great, steel sword in the scabbard at his waist, had been entrusted with the safety of the people, the trust of the masses, and the justice of the land.

This was _Mia Reĝo,_ and _Mia Reĝo_ was a soldier. _Mia Reĝo_ was a leader.

 _Mia Reĝo_ was a King.

As if in response to her sudden epiphany, his fingers, warm and rough, slid down the pale gooseflesh of her arm. Bella felt a shiver course down the length of her spine, from the roots of her hair to the ends of her toes. She trembled— whether from fear or nerves, she did not know— and though he said nothing in response, she felt his hand tighten on her arm. Gently, as the horse slowed to a walk, he slid his hand down and tightened his hand around hers, their paired digits gripping the pommel with firm and fierce strength. Bella froze at his touch and though the horse stopped altogether, neither she nor he made any move to spur it on.

Only when her fingers twitched, her knuckles tickling the tender flesh of his palm, did he release her, his hand returning slowly to the reins with a soft and quiet sigh.

"Do not worry," said the King, and Bella felt her mouth go dry. "Do not worry, My Lady. You are safe now. Do not worry."

He snapped the reins, and the horse sprinted on.

 **Translations:**

 _Fratino  
_ Sister

 _Onklino  
_ Aunt

 _Surprizo  
_ Surprise

 _Ŝtataj Ĉambroj  
_ State Chambers

 _Traktatoj_  
Treaties

 _Sube  
_ Down

 _Facila. Ĝentila…  
_ Easy. Gentle…

 _Ĉasisto  
_ Hunter

 _Cervoj  
_ Deer

 _Kokinoj  
_ Hogs

 _Fiŝkaptado  
_ Fishing

 _Fiŝo  
_ Fish

 _Mia Damo! Mia Damo… Ĉu vi vundas?  
_ My Lady! My Lady… Are you hurt?

 _Mia Reĝo  
_ My King

 _Dolĉulino  
_ Sweetheart

 **A/N: Everyone's been pretty quiet lately... let me know what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The girl stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the great stone dais at the end of the hall where a pair of thrones— matching seats of dark, gleaming wood— stood shining in the sun. Silence echoed around them. Light filtered down through gleaming, glass-covered skylights, and dust drifted in beams of sunlight. It tumbled through the air like dancers on the wind, and Edward's eyes followed a piece from the ceiling— down, and left, and down, and right— until it came to settle on the dark crown of her head, disappearing into the long, red-brown hair that ran down her back.

Her sniffle echoed off of the cavernous walls, the noise so loud that it made her jump.

"My Lady?" Edward kept his voice low, but the girl jumped again. "My Lady, please…"

When she turned to him, her eyes as wide as saucers, he felt a peculiar heat creeping up his neck.

"Please?" she queried, her voice tremulous. She swallowed— he saw her throat bob with sudden effort— and he looked away. She had not said a word to him since he'd helped her onto his horse, and though he had done his best to appear gentle and kind, the very sight of him seemed to send her into a fluster.

"Please, sit," he said. He could see her knees shaking, just as they had been out in the fields. "Please."

He pointed her towards a bench— a long, low, cushioned thing along the western wall of the throne room— and she paused for only a moment, her brow furrowed.

"Sit," he said again, and the girl nodded. "Please."

And so, with hobbling, jerky movements, like those of a nested fledgling, she obeyed. She perched herself upon the burgundy cushion and sighed, tucking her feet beneath the seat.

Edward cleared his throat.

"You must be hungry," he said, and the girl's shoulders shrugged. "You did not eat."

"No," she agreed. As if in response to his offer, her stomach snarled. The kitchens, already aware of her predicament, were preparing a plate as they spoke.

He wished she would look at him.

"Are you hurt?" asked Edward, and the girl shook her head. "My brother had no right to do what he did."

"I..." She bit her lip. "I do not think he meant to."

Edward, unable to help himself, barked a loud, sardonic laugh. The girl jumped again.

"He did," said Edward. "I assure you, he did."

And this time, she did look.

Such eyes of deep and brilliant hazel, Edward had never seen before. She stared at him, her gaze fixed and hot with such sudden accusation that Edward, despite the thrill of excitement that coursed through him, was forced to backtrack. Her pretty face scowled— her lip curled in distaste, her wide eyes narrowed, and her cheeks, as pale and smooth as a bowl of cream, flushed pink like rose petals. The blush spread down, first to her neck, and then to her chest, as she grew more discontented.

"He didn't," she insisted again, and despite her obvious annoyance, her voice remained calm. "He just… didn't."

"He is very hot-tempered," began Edward, but the girl, seeming to have found her strength, cut him short.

"He is…" She struggled, and he waited. "He is…"

"Headstrong," finished Edward helpfully, though the girl did not respond. "Headstrong, and stubborn. He is a foolish youth…"

"Sad."

Edward blew out a breath. The girl watched his shoulders sag, as if her voicing of that word was the only thing that made it so, and Edward nodded in concession.

"Yes," he said. "He is. But he must learn to control himself."

The girl's interest was piqued and she stood again, pushing herself up on shaking, unsteady legs. Edward wished she wouldn't… each time she stepped, he feared she would fall. The stone floor would not be kind to her if she struck it with force, and the very last thing she needed was another injury to add to her healing, but still lengthy, list.

"Please…" Edward offered her his arm. She hesitated for only a moment, eying it with deliberate consideration, before she reached out with her unbandaged, unbroken limb and hooked it through his elbow. Her arm was thin— everything from her elbow to her wrist and fingers was bony and sharp, though even through the sleeves of his tunic, he could feel her warmth. She leaned her slight weight on him, as if she were in danger of falling, and Edward was acutely aware of the way her shoulder felt against his.

They walked halfway to the dais before she spoke again.

"Why is he sad?" she asked, and Edward paused, heaving a sigh. "What happened to make him so?"

"It…" He shook his head. "It is… come. Come with me, and I will show you."

"Show me?"

"Yes."

And so he led her, careful and slow, towards the end of the large, stone hall, where a great, painted canvas hung in a gilded frame on the wall. It was a monstrous thing— much larger and commanding than any other piece he'd hung— and though it was only a two-dimensional rendering of what he had lost, it was a such an apt likeness that it made his stomach twist.

The girl paused before it, staring up with speculative curiosity. Edward forced himself to look as well. The pang in his guts was lessened, but not absent, as he met the flat, yet potent gaze of the man.

His father, dressed in all his kingly regalia, stood tall and proud near the center of the scene, his stare blazing out from the canvas with fire. He had been tall— taller, even, than Edward himself— and in this regard, the painting had done him justice. He towered next to the pillars that held up the throne room, his hands on his hips and his boots glinting in the bright, morning sun. His sword hung low— it was the same jeweled weapon that Edward now carried— swinging from a scabbard at his waist. His hair was smooth and blonde, tamed into order by the painter's deft brush, and the crown— that tall and heavy golden coronet— rested atop his head, inlaid with gleaming rubies and blazing sapphires. Jasper favoured him— everything from his father's long face and nose, to his gleaming, golden hair, and clear, blue eyes had been passed on to the younger of the two princes, though there was something of Father's ghost that lingered in his eldest son as well.

But it was the woman— the smaller, slender figure with her arm hooked through Edward Senior's elbow— that made his heart stutter.

They had dressed her in cloth of gold— a simply cut, yet lovely gown that hung from her sloping shoulders and pooled on the ground at her feet. She stood tall, though she did not reach his father's chin, and while Edward remembered her as small and soft, the painter had made her fierce and strong. Her figure was straight, with a long body and a regal carriage that told of power, and of strength. Beneath the golden filigree of her crown, a mass of dark red hair tumbled down her back in waves that hung to her waist. She had always been lovely— even as a small boy, Edward had known that his mother was a great beauty. The painter had captured her in all her glory— eyes of emerald green, pale skin tanned brown from the shining Maronese sun, and a wide, kindly smile that spoke of nothing but love, both for her husband and children, for whom she'd given so much, and for her people, to whom she had always felt eternally indebted.

But it was the cloth draped around her shoulders that caught Edward's eye— that bright, flowing thing that had served as the utmost proof of his father's unerring and unbroken devotion to the only woman he had ever loved. His father had commissioned the shawl for her— a thin, lacy thing woven from the finest silks his craftsmen could find— but it had not been the threads, or the detail, that made it so valuable.

It was the blue— the crisp and gentle pale blue— that made it so special. On the island of Marolando, there existed a great range of colours and dyes suited for all manner of craft and trade. Little cochineal beetles, dried and ground to dust, could turn a tunic red. Leaves, steeped in boiling water, could make green. Pollen, stolen from the vibrant plumeria that grew rampant on the island, could make orange and yellow, and if the weaver was lucky enough to find one, a crop of purple hibiscus could turn white into mauve and lilac.

But blue was an enigma. Only in the rarest alcoves, deep in the ravines bordering the caves on the eastern shore, could you find such a treasure: blue indigo, whose crushed stems and flowers would release such potent, vibrant hues of azure and cobalt.

And his father— his father had spent a merchant's fortune to have it harvested. His father had given his queen the greatest gift of all. His mother, for whom the bright, blue sky had been a source of eternal wonder and joy, had been given a piece of the heavens for her very own and she had cherished it until the end when they had found it, folded and wrinkled, beneath her dress above her heart.

The girl sighed, and Edward, broken from his trance, glanced down at the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Edward shook his head. Torn from the painting, he saw how her eyes roved down to his waist, where the great, jeweled sword hung from its scabbard. He knew that she understood what it meant— she might not be versed in the ways of their culture, but she was smart enough to realize that there was only one way for a son to inherit his father's choicest weapon.

"Do not be sorry," said Edward softly. He turned back to the painting. "This is my father and mother."

The girl nodded.

"He was king before me," continued Edward, "and he was gone long before his time. But…"

The girl's head snapped up.

"But what?" she asked.

"But nothing," Edward sighed. "That is why my brother is sad. He was not always so… prickly."

The girl gave a reluctant smile.

"I think it was my fault," she muttered, and Edward scoffed. "I… provoked him."

"It doesn't take much," Edward said. He sat her back on a bench. "He is so quick to anger…"

"I…"

"She wants to leave."

The voice, unexpected and quiet in the hush of the throne room, made Edward wheel round. The girl's eyes snapped up, blinking as she met the gaze of the boy who stood, covered in sweat with a long, downcast face, shuffling his feet in the dirt beneath his boots. Behind him stood Emmett, grim-faced and surly, with a large, hot hand clamped securely around the boy's shoulder. Edward said nothing when Jasper, bristling at the pressure of Emmett's fingers, tried to shrug the guard away, earning him a sharp rebuke from his captor.

"Thank you, Emmett," said Edward. The girl held her breath. "You may leave us."

"As you wish, Edward," said Emmett quietly. "But remember…"

Edward grimaced, reading the reminder on Emmett's face. _Discipline,_ Edward thought, though the very idea unsettled him. _Discipline, or else he will end up a lawless, rampant vagabond with no care for either life or limb..._

"I know." Edward could feel the heaviness in his chest. "I know. Thank you, Emmett."

The large, wooden doors closed with a creak and a bang, and Jasper, nervous and jumpy to be left alone with his malcontented sibling, gave a start.

Edward said nothing, and a hush fell over them in a soft, but uncomfortable, silence.

"Come here," said Edward finally, and to his astonishment, the boy obeyed. Mielo and Brava, two of Leah's newest pups, darted to their mother, who held court beside the Queen's throne, where a cushion had fallen to the floor. Edward watched as his brother skulked forth, his eyes fixed on the two hunting beasts who submitted calmly and quietly to their mother's inventory. Leah sniffed them, and kissed them, and nuzzled them, and, only when she had completed her assessment, she allowed them headroom on her cushion. The pair— one dark, and one light— had been tired by their jaunt and fell into a light slumber, curled up head to tail in a patch of glowing sunlight on the stone.

The girl, still resting shakily on the cushioned bench along the far wall, glanced between Edward and Jasper as if she were watching a particularly riveting game of _peloto_ , her lip between her teeth as she awaited the verdict.

The boy shuffled and Edward was recalled to the task at hand.

"What have you to say for yourself?" he demanded. The boy shifted again, and looked back at the girl. Edward saw a myriad of emotions cross his face— hope, sadness, guilt, joy, and— though it pained him to see it— anger. That last one— evident only by a familiar, icy glint in those bright, blue eyes— set Edward's teeth on edge, and his next words left him in a tone of sharp command.

"Do not look at her," Edward barked. Both brother and girl jumped. "Do you understand the harm you might have caused?"

"I didn't…"

"You _did,"_ Edward said, and he was glad to feel the squirming guilt slipping further and further away with each continued minute of quiet resistance from his smug and cocky brother. The boy _had_ done wrong. "Do you understand what might have happened?"

"I…"

"It's a simple question, Jasper."

The girl ducked her head, but his brother, whose gaze had been glued to the floor since Edward's rebuke, glared at him. Edward saw the swimming, steeping anger in those once-familiar eyes, and, like a snakebite, he felt it pierce him, sharp and stinging.

"Yes," he said finally, and Edward released a breath. "Yes, I do, but…"

"But nothing." The boy's jaw clenched, and he opened his mouth again before Edward cut him off. "No, there is no excuse."

Jasper's venomous stare, softening only slightly, turned back towards the girl on the bench. Edward felt the all-too familiar spark of annoyance deep in his chest as he watched Jasper glare at her, his eyes chock full of misplaced accusation, blame, and anger. Something righteous that echoed with long-forgotten sibling rivalry flared in Edward's heart at this blatant disregard for the command he'd given not two minutes prior, and Edward felt the heat rising in his face as his own temper began to bubble. When Jasper opened his mouth, Edward could almost _hear_ the impertinent insolence priming his tongue, and he cut his brother off before he could even start.

"You will treat our guest with _respect,"_ Edward snapped, and, as if recalled to attention, his brother at least had the wherewithal to look ashamed. "You will _not_ treat an elder— much less a _woman_ — with contempt. Do you understand me?"

" _Yes."_

The word bit like a tooth on stone, and Edward clenched his jaw to keep his temper in check.

"Good," he said finally. "Good…"

Jasper stared at him, fuming.

"Do you realize the damage you might have done?" Edward asked again, but this time, he kept his voice soft. "Do you have any idea what might have happened if she hadn't been found?"

Jasper, glancing only momentarily at the woman on the bench, turned pink before he shrugged.

"Do you understand that you might have caused her serious injury?" Edward asked. "Do you know where we found her?"

The boy, unspeaking, shook his head.

"Lying in a dip in the hill, far out of sight of any guards or aid. She's lucky Leah was with her. It was the dog that Emmett spotted, not the lady…"

Jasper said nothing.

"She is not strong," Edward continued. "She is not well…"

The woman shifted uncomfortably.

"She is healing," he continued. "Do you know what that means?"

"Yes…"

"Then you should know what that requires of _you,"_ said Edward.

"But…"

"But nothing."

"But she wants to _leave!"_ Jasper said, and this time, Edward heard the threat of tears. The woman, still watching them with wide, frightened eyes, glanced down at her feet when the child spoke.

Edward, his heart full of sadness, watched the boy with a growing, if not entirely wholesome, pity. The remnants of irritation, which came so quickly to him when Jasper did wrong, drifted away on a breeze as Edward watched the boy's bitter facade crumble, only to be replaced with a righteous and worrisome fear. Such turmoil should never be the burden of a child, and yet here was his own brother, so profoundly affected by a violent legacy of trauma. Edward suspected that even Jasper himself knew it— it was not reasonable, nor was it healthy, to feel such riotous, reactive anger at the thought of a stranger leaving, and yet…

"Of course she does," said Edward, and this time, the girl stared at him. "Of course she wants to leave, Jasper."

This time, the boy _did_ cry.

"She wants to _go,_ " he mourned, and any residual rage that had been festering in Edward's heart fled at once. "She wants to _leave_ , just like all the others."

"And why shouldn't she?" asked Edward, and the boy's shoulders shook. "She is not one of us, and she has neither kith nor kin to love her…"

"But…"

And when those eyes— those angry and turbulent, yet _hopeful_ blue eyes— landed on the mystery woman, Edward did not need to be told what his brother was thinking. He saw it there, etched as plainly as if he'd scrawled it in black ink for all to read. Jasper had always been an easy child— a gentle and caring child for whom love came as easily as rain in a mid-autumn storm. It fell liberally and he drank it up, bonds like steel forming in mere moments, and as such an apt judge of character, he was almost never wrong.

But when two of those bonds— the two most lasting, wholesome bonds of all— had been brutally and violently severed, something in him had grown desperate to fill the void.

And so Edward knew, even without words or sounds. He knew it in the same way he knew himself— a knowledge that was as instinctive as thought, and as easy as breath.

 _But I could keep her, and be both kith and kin. I found her, and plucked her from death. I felt her, cold and pale, before the warmth of life returned and she found her legs, and voice. I could love her, if she'd let me._

The boy didn't say it, but Edward knew it anyways.

"She is not yours to keep," said Edward softly, and he saw the splash of a tear on the child's collar. "She is not ours, Jasper, and if she wants to leave, we must let her go."

"But…"

"No," Edward reached out a hand, which the boy did not take. "She was never ours…"

"But she _could_ be."

"But she's _not_ ," insisted Edward. "She's not, Jasper…"

And the woman, listening with such rapt and careful attention, rose from her seat.

 _She's not_ , thought Edward. _She's not ours. She is not one of us, is not of this place, no matter how much I wish she could be._

 **Translations:**

 _Peloto  
_ Ball (or, more specifically, a Maronese ball game)


	15. Chapter 15

**My apologies for the late update... as some of you may know from my Twitter account, I am currently on a teaching placement away from home that takes up a lot of my time. Also, my grandfather, who has been living with lung cancer for over three months, passed away last night, so until now, much of my time was spent with him. Thanks a bunch for all your patience and understanding. You guys are the best.**

 **Chapter 15**

Bella thumbed the plump cushion on her lap as she listened carefully to the cacophony of voices, her gaze fixed on a rogue stone near the foot of her stool. She tasted blood in her mouth. The inside of her cheek was bitten raw from nerves and she couldn't stop herself from gnawing at the tender flesh as the noise escalated and her name rang out in garbled shouts.

"Don't mind the men, darling," said Esme gently. Bella's shoulders sagged. "They always fight like cats, but in the end we'll get our way. You'll see."

"I shouldn't have asked," said Bella quietly, her voice bitter with regret.

"Of _course_ you should have," returned Esme. A blonde man that Bella did not know began to shout and she ducked her head again. Edward's face was pinched with irritation— even Bella, who did not know him well, could see it— but the man carried on and Esme squeezed her hand.

"Just like a man," she whispered irritatedly. "Mihaelo is such an _apro."_

"He does not like me," Bella said gently. "I've never even met him properly."

"If you can show me a woman he _does_ like, I'd give her my house," dismissed Esme. "He's sour, just as his father was before him, and he blames Edward for the sins of his father."

"What sins?"

Esme shook her head.

"Later," she said wisely. "It would not bode well if he heard us."

"What if they say no?" Bella asked. "What will happen to me then?"

"You are not a prisoner, darling," Esme said. "The Council cannot forbid you freedom of movement. Only Edward can do that, and he's got neither the will nor a just cause."

"Then what's all this even for?" she asked.

"It's protocol," Esme whispered. "Though you've been here for some weeks, you are still an outsider, and outsiders must have Royal permission to move freely between the country and the capital. Edward defers to his council out of nothing more than courtesy— to keep the peace, as one might say— but you've got nothing to worry about."

"But what if they say no?" Bella asked anxiously. "What then?"

"They won't," soothed Esme, "and even if they did, Edward's vote is the one that matters. Do you think he'd deny you?"

Bella bit her lip.

"He wouldn't," said Esme. "He's quite fond of you."

"I don't mean to be a burden," she said. "Had I known, I wouldn't have asked…"

"It is your right to petition the King for permission to leave," said Esme again. "You've done nothing wrong. Mihaelo has always been ornery, and he's contrary for the fun of it. Don't let him upset you."

"He seems angry."

"I'm sure he is." Esme's cool fingers brushed Bella's chin and with only a little coaxing, Bella met her gaze. "But it is not Mihaelo that you should concern yourself with. Edward's is the only voice that matters, and he is a kind and reasonable man."

"I know."

"That is enough." As if he'd heard the anxiety in Bella's quiet whispers, Edward's voice rang over the heads of his twelve councillors with commanding volume. Bella, though the order was not directed at her, fell silent at once, her lip between her teeth.

Esme squeezed her hand in companionable silence and waited for the verdict.

"Do any among you have any other concerns?"

"My Lord…"

"You've had your say, Mihaelo," said Edward harshly, "now be silent. Let your brothers speak. Does anyone object to the lady leaving the city?"

Silence. Mihaelo, whose surly, red face Bella could see from her place along the wall, looked mutinous. Bella watched him covertly from the corner of her eye as he glared at the King, and for one, preposterous moment, Bella thought she saw his fingers twitch towards the gilded, ornate knife hanging from his belt beneath the table. The thrill of fright that seized her lasted only a moment, but when Esme tucked a stray curl behind her ear, Bella knew that she had seen.

"Does anyone object to her request for safe passage?"

Silence.

"Does anyone begrudge her the clothes on her back, or the food on her plate?" Mihaelo bristled again, and Bella went pink. It had been this objection— the one met with a scowl from Esme and angry titters from the rest of the Council— that had made her most uncomfortable. Bella did not want to be a burden. She was grateful for the house room she'd been given, the clothes and food so generously provided, and she had been hopeful that her gracious thanks had been heard.

The table was silent once again. In the sudden hush, Bella watched the vein in Mihaelo's temple throb.

"Good," said Edward. "Good…"

He rose, and the rest of the men followed suit. When he stepped away from the head of the table, Esme gave Bella's sleeve a tug and they both rose as well, though their movement went unnoticed as Edward moved around to the first stair of the dais.

"All in favour?"

A chorus of _yeas—_ a collective, clamorous noise— rang clear, and Bella watched with heart-fluttering relief as Edward nodded his head.

"So be it," he said, and the table began to disband. "The Lady's request has been granted. Go forth and spread the word."

Esme pulled Bella by the hand.

"It is done," she said, just as the chamber doors cracked open. "Come." Carlisle and Jasper, waiting patiently outside, peered in curiously as the first of Edward's Councillors— a tall, gangly man with stooped shoulders and a thin, tanned face— pattered over the threshold.

Mihaelo stormed after him in a flurry of irritation, sparing neither a glance nor a kind word for his healer or his prince. He blew through the hall in a furious temper, and only once he had gone, disappearing behind the thick, wooden doors, did the King speak.

"I am sorry," said Edward, and Bella turned to face him. "I'm sorry you had to hear him."

Bella ducked her head.

"Mihaelo is…" His tired eyes— red-rimmed emeralds encased by dark, bruising circles— stared at the closed door through which Mihaelo had fled. "He is… prickly."

Bella cracked a weak smile.

"I know you are no threat," said Edward needlessly, "but Mihaelo likes to argue."

"Thank you," said Bella, "for everything."

"You are most welcome," said Edward. "We shall see each other soon, I am sure."

Bella didn't reply.

One week. One week was how long it had taken for her request, quietly spoken in the sunset hours when she had been alone with the King in the throne room, to come to fruition. Seven days for him to dig up the old manuscripts, decipher the laws etched in fading ink, assemble his Council, and render his verdict. The law he'd consulted was old— it had been over fifty years since anyone had been forced to use it, and it had taken three full days of debate and discourse with his Council for a consensus to be reached. The documents talked of men and women, and of children displaced or abandoned by tragedy or war, but no matter how hard they looked or how deeply they dug, it spoke nothing of Goddesses.

And Bella's objections to that particular label had gone unheard.

 _Whensoever a man demandeth asylum, he shall be brought before the King's Court. The decision of the Court shall determine the fate of the man. Any foreign man who has contravened the King's Law is subject to the King's Justice, at the discretion of the King and the King's Councillors. A man of goodly nature and amenable disposition shall not be held unduly._

 _Whensoever a lady demandeth asylum, she shall be brought before the King. The decision of the King shall determine the fate of the lady. Any foreign lady found to be in violation of the King's Law shall be subject to imprisonment or banishment, at the discretion of the King. A lady of goodly nature and amenable disposition should not be held unduly._

 _Whensoever a child demandeth asylum, he should be brought before the Queen for immediate referral. If the Queen be indisposed, the child should be brought before the Princess or the Queen Mother. The child, no matter his origin or intent, shall be granted asylum as a Ward of the State, until such time as a suitable guardian can be found._

Bella had read it herself. She had been perched at a tall and sturdy desk in a room off of a long library, running her finger across the lines of text like a child with a picture book. The script had looped and twirled along the tracks of a long-forgotten pen, its once-dark ink fading with each passing year. After she'd voiced her request to him, hedging and quiet, the King had led her to the library, where an elderly, wizened man had crept up a creaky ladder with an armful of documents, all fading and peeling in the shadows of an upper shelf. The scroll had been dusty, and Bella had been afraid that it might crumble in her hands.

" _What are they?"_ Bella had asked.

" _Laws," said the King. "Our laws. You are an… interesting case."_

 _Bella waited as the librarian— or, perhaps more aptly, the archivist— was safely on the ground before she accepted the thin, papery scroll from the King's outstretched hand._

" _Laws pertaining to Outsiders," said the archivist. "Poorly known and sorely used. Best of luck to you, Sire…"_

" _Thank you," said the King. "Come, My Lady."_

 _Bella followed, eyes raking eagerly over the stacks of aged parchment heaped in piles on dark, wooden shelves. The King led her through a narrow passage lined with bound books, their embossed spines glinting gold in the yellow light from the skylights overhead. They walked in silence. The soles of Bella's shoes clicked on the stone floor, and each time the King moved his left leg, the sword at his waist knocked against his belt. Her arm was looped through his elbow and he guided her gently until they reached a quiet, well-lit room with a desk and two chairs. One— a high-backed, cushioned thing with ornate arms— was pulled out for her, and the King beckoned her forth_

" _Please," he said, and she sat carefully atop the thick, velveteen cushion. "Would you like to see?"_

 _She'd said yes._

"Carlisle is an able and trustworthy guardian," said Edward gently. "I trust him to see you through to the southern shore."

"Thank you," said Bella again. Esme, reaching out to her husband, left the pair of them alone. "I…"

"You will be well," said Edward. "And you will return."

Bella did not reply. Cheeks pink and eyes downcast, she did not know how to tell the King the truth. When she got to the shore, she was sure she'd find a boat. And when she found herself a boat…

She had no intention of returning to the capital.

"I'm sure," Bella said. The lie made her flush. "Thank you again for all you've done."

"As much as I'd like to claim credit, it was not my kindness that kept you well," said the King. "My people, misguided though they may be, have provided you with more than I have. The women wove the dresses. The men supplied the food. And even the children— I know their handiwork well enough— created the dolls and baubles for your chamber."

Bella bit her lip.

"My soldiers kept you safe, and my uncle made you well…"

"Hardly, Edward," said the healer, his light, airy chuckle dancing through the air. "I am merely an agent, bound by the limitations of my craft. The lady was meant to persist, and so she did."

Carlisle's arm wrapped around Bella's shoulders, and Bella leaned in to the comforting weight. The healer appraised her— his kind, careful eyes roving from her face down to her toes— and only when he was satisfied that she was well, he let her go.

"I'll leave you to your plans," he said, giving Bella a smile and the King a respectful nod. "Whenever you're ready, we will set off."

"Thank you," said Bella. A bag— burlap and twine— had already been packed and set aside in the bright blue room that had been her home in the castle. A dress chosen with especial care by Alice, a wrapped bundle of tough, hardy bread, a waterproof pouch of sweet, clear water, and a blanket— a soft, pliable thing that had been tucked into the bed since her third day awake— were all waiting for her up in the blue antechamber.

"Come, darling," said Esme. Her fingers twined with Bella's. "Let's go collect your things, and then we'll be off."

Bella had taken all of two steps, with Carlisle and Esme on her heels, when the King spoke again.

"Uncle?" he said. The healer's arm, which had been hooked through Bella's elbow, went slack, and he disengaged himself with a gentle nudge.

"Edward?"

"May I have a word?" asked the King, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Esme's smile freeze in place. She took up Carlisle's vacated place at once, tucking Bella's hand into her elbow, and led her towards the door of the hall just as Edward's voice began to pick up.

" _I'd like to ask you a favour…"_

"Best leave them to it," said Esme quietly. "Shall we go upstairs? Perhaps we could fix up your bag…"

But before the door could so much as close behind them, the noise reverberating off of the thick, stone walls, their path was blocked by a hunched, downcast silhouette.

"Jasper." Esme spoke softly, and Bella saw the sudden pinch between her brows as she took in the boy's sullenness— his shuffling feet, downturned head, and stooped, sloping shoulders.

When he looked up at Bella, she saw nothing but guarded hostility behind a veil of pinched hurt.

"You're leaving," he said, refusing to meet her gaze. "Edward's let you go."

"She is coming with Uncle and I to the hut," said Esme. "She is not _leaving."_

Bella bit her tongue.

"You're _leaving,"_ said the boy again, and this time, he did look. Bella almost felt the fire in his eyes, the anger that bubbled so close to the surface plainly evident as his gaze raked over her like hot coals. "Just like I said you would."

"I have to go…"

"No, you don't," the boy interrupted. "You don't _have_ to go anywhere. You _want_ to go, just like everyone else…"

"Mind your tongue," warned Esme, though there was no real threat in her voice. "It is the Lady's right to come and go as she pleases. You know that."

"Yeah, right." Jasper turned away. "Well… goodbye then."

"Goodbye," murmured Bella awkwardly. "I hope…"

His eyes flashed with sudden fury.

"Nevermind," she mumbled. "Goodbye, Jasper."

When Carlisle, grim-faced and serious, exited the throne room with sudden fervor, the boy slinked away, disappearing into a dimly-lit, shadowy room along the far wall.

"Is he alright?" asked Carlisle mildly.

"He's just as he always is," sighed Esme. "But I expect he will be well soon enough. You know how he gets. What did Edward ask of you?"

"Nothing of consequence," dismissed Carlisle. "Simple protocol is all…"

"Protocol?" asked Esme. She surveyed her husband with a critical eye. "What protocol?"

"Nothing, darling." Carlisle kissed her cheek. "Just talk between men. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"What nonsense," scoffed Esme. "What did he ask of you?"

The silence between them was thick. Carlisle surveyed his wife with a careful gaze, and though she did not know him well, Bella could see the mingled admiration and frustration on his handsome face. Esme did not relent— she stared at him, eyes narrowed, waiting for an explanation that was slow to come. Nothing was said for a long, quiet moment, but eventually, when he undoubtedly sensed his wife's obstinance, he spoke.

"Talk of horses," he said finally. "For the Lady. And talk of guardianship."

"Guardianship?" Bella chirped, and both heads turned to her. "Of me?"

"...Yes," hedged Carlisle. "It is simple protocol."

"I don't need a guardian."

"No, I don't think you do," conceded Carlisle. "It is merely a matter of principle."

"Principle?"

It was Esme who sighed this time.

"Yes, darling," said Esme. "Every family has one, and as the head of our household, it is Carlisle's duty to act as guardian."

Bella blinked stupidly.

" _Our_ household?" she queried.

Esme's gaze shifted to the floor, and she did not reply.

"Come," said Carlisle finally. "Come, Miss Bella. It is time to go home."

And so Bella, with a strange, burgeoning excitement rising in her chest that was so rare it felt foreign, made her way towards the door. She was so distracted by the promise of freedom that she didn't even realize that this was the first time in six weeks that she'd heard her name out loud.

* * *

The horse seemed infinitely tall and Bella, standing with her trembling fingers on the warm, sleek flank, shook her head.

"Never," she said in response to the groom's question. "Not ever."

"How can it be?" muttered the man incredulously. "A lady of your age having never ridden?"

"Where I come from…" she began, but Bella bit her tongue. Where she came from, men and women did not ride horses from point A to point B. She was not expected to know how to mount a saddle, or sit up straight, or urge a horse forward with a gentle squeeze of her thighs. She knew how to navigate gas pedals, steering wheels, and a sticky clutch. She knew what to do when her engine whined, or when her blessed truck, as old and rusted as an aged penny, stalled mid-drive. She knew just the right way to crack open the gas tank cover, and just how fast she could take the long, winding turns on the shores of First Beach.

But she did not, for the life of her, know what to do when the horse tossed its head, stamped its massive hooves, or trotted away when she tried to grab ahold of the pommel.

"Grip it here," said the man, and he took Bella's hand in his. Carefully, but with enough confidence to keep the horse from startling, he placed Bella's palm firmly on the saddle.

"It's easy once you learn," said Esme sympathetically. Bella had watched with only mild apprehension as the older woman had swung confidently onto her own mount— a small, grey mare with a glossy mane of dark charcoal. Bella's own beast— a taller, slightly wider palomino borrowed from the King's stables— was not as sturdy, and from her vantage point, seemed at least ten feet taller.

"Left foot on the stirrup," instructed Carlisle. His horse stood still as a statue as it waited. Bella obeyed his order, and her own horse began to bristle.

"Have you no other?" complained Carlisle to the groom, who wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "This one seems hardly broken…"

"She is well-broken and well-trained," grunted the groom. "A good girl…"

"Seems skittish," argued Carlisle. "A skittish horse is no good for a beginner."

"There are no others that are suitable," said the groom. "The lady is too small for a stallion, and the only other mare is…"

"I understand," sighed Carlisle, although Bella did not. With her foot hooked onto the stirrup, she faced the groom again.

"What other mare?" she asked.

"It is… nothing," said the man. "Nothing of concern. Now… with your left foot in the stirrup, pull yourself up. Are you strong enough?"

"Yes…" said Bella. She had grown much stronger since her last excursion on a horse, when the King himself had been forced to lift her up. Her legs no longer shook, her arms did not ache, and though she sometimes felt the familiar thumping of a headache in her temples, it was more of a nuisance than a threat.

Bella hauled herself up with as much grace as she could muster, gripping the pommel for dear life as soon as she was settled. The groom clucked approvingly and Esme clapped her hands, but Bella, feeling the gentle breathing of the beast beneath her, was stiff and anxious.

"Good, My Lady," said the groom. "Very good. Now…"

He handed her the thick, soft leather of the reins, and she gripped them with tremulous fingers.

"Squeeze with your legs to move forward, a soft pull on the reins to slow, and a sharp tug to stop, you understand?"

Bella nodded.

"Try it out," urged the groom. "Best to take a tumble here than out on the road."

Bella's face paled.

"It's quite easy," said Esme again. "Kora seems steady now."

As if in defiance, the horse, Kora, tossed her blonde head and whinnied.

"Walk on," said Bella shakily, squeezing the saddle between her thighs. The horse responded at once, and began to trot— slowly, yet steadily, towards the castle gate.

"Good," called the groom. "Now make her stop."

Bella gave a firm tug, and the horse halted at once.

"Good girl," she murmured, patting the horse's neck. "Good girl…"

"Now turn her back," urged Carlisle. "A soft tug in the direction you want to go…"

But Bella, her confidence rising by the second, pulled the horse to the right and watched, amazed, as the creature turned right back around.

"You've got it," said the groom, looking slightly less grim. "Just take her slow, and she'll do well by you."

"Thank you," said Bella again. The horse parked herself next to Esme's mare. "And tell the King…"

"I'll tell him," said the groom. "I'm glad you are well enough to venture out, My Lady…"

And once again, Bella's cheeks went pink.

"Thank you."

"And watch out for yourself in the city," said the groom. "The people are waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Thank you, Marco," said Carlisle quickly, and Bella caught a glimpse of his nervous, almost embarrassed, face. "Thank you for all your help."

The man bowed, and Carlisle turned to face her.

"We will go as far as the hut today," he explained. "The shore is not far from there, but it is not safe after nightfall."

"Nightfall?"

"It is a long ride home," explained Carlisle. "I expect you'll be tired out."

"I…"

"Come," said Carlisle. "And whatever you do, stay by me."

"Why would I…?"

"The people," explained Carlisle, repeating the groom's mysterious words. "The people are waiting."

The gates swung open and at once, the cheering rose.

 **Translations:**

 _Apro  
_ Boar


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Faces.

Beyond the gate, gathered in thick throngs on the road, was a sea of faces, all tan and white and pink against a backdrop of green jungle. The noise rose in a crescendo when her horse passed beneath the guardian arch of the castle walls. The bright sun, blazing down like a beacon from the heavens, blinded her and her horse stumbled in the dust, trying to keep pace with Carlisle's stallion. She blinked, confused, as she leaned back and brought a hand to her eyes, trying to squint away the blooming spots of red and blue that danced across her field of view.

There were hundreds of them, all eager-eyed and gawking, crowding the sandy shoulders of the roads. Bella had only seen the town proper from her tower window, had only seen their squat little buildings with clay walls and thatched rooves from a distance, and as her horse slowly picked its way over stones and potholes, she had a chance to look properly. Carlisle went ahead, clearing a narrow path through the bodies, and Bella followed as closely as she could.

The roads beneath them were made of hard, packed sand. Yellow dirt in some spots and brown mud in others, each landing of a horse's footfall sent little puffs of dust to the crowds above. As far as Bella could see beyond the thronging crowds and close-packed homes, the road was winding and curved, slithering between buildings like a coiling snake. Crowds parted as Bella's party moved through, and as she passed women, men, and giggling children, hands reached out to brush her sandals, the hem of her skirt, and the bridle of her horse.

" _My Lady!"_ they whispered, hushed and awed. _"Goddess!"_ they murmured.

Bella kept a tight hold on her horse.

They moved in a slow, but steady, procession. High above the crowds, mounted atop her horse, Bella could see a good length down the road. She fought against her urge to examine the people on the path and inspected the town instead.

The main road was peppered with strange and foreign sights.

Behind the heads and faces lining the shoulders of the road, Bella had a glimpse into the lives and homes of the people of Marolando. The King's great castle was a towering, formidable fortress compared to these shanty buildings, but for what they lacked in grandeur, they made up in curiosity. Innumerable glassless windows carved into clay walls were hung with strange, bulbous fruit, shining red like rubies in the noontime sun. Doors of thick bamboo with wooden knockers and rope handles were hung with wild wreaths of vines and all manner and colour of shrub and flower. Big, cerulean birds with white breasts roosted atop nearly every flat roof in large nests of straw and sticks. Beneath a red and gold canopy rested a cart of produce— bright yellow bananas, dark, ripened avocado, crimson persimmons, and a bushel basket of dark, juicy grapes. A stall a few doors down was draped in black cloth, upon which lay a plethora of shining jewels. Bracelets of silver, encrusted with stones of verdant green and vibrant yellow were laid out like shimmering serpents. A golden brooch with gems of peacock blue and deep, royal purple was pinned in the centre of the display. Strings of pearls, both long and short, were wound in coils of brilliant white about the perimeter of the stall. Twine threaded with beads of all colours and sizes hung from thick, silver nails hammered into boards, and little stone idols— fat and round and jolly— congregated in groups in all four corners.

As Bella leaned left and right to get a glimpse of these curiosities, Kora followed Carlisle's horse with a plodding steadiness that Bella had not expected of her. The horse held her head down and kept so close to the lead stallion that her nose almost brushed his tail with each careful step. Bella held tight to the reins, and though she squeezed the saddle tight with her thighs, her horse did not try to overtake Carlisle's.

"Are you steady, Bella?" asked Carlisle, his voice slightly raised so that she might hear him over the low rumble of voices.

"Yes," she said. A child kissed the hem of her riding skirt. "Yes…"

"Good," Carlisle faced the crowd again. "To the side, please!"

A woman's fingers gripped her ankle. Faltering slightly, Bella pulled Kora to a stop, gently extricating her foot from the calloused, dusty hand.

"Please," she said, though what she wanted, she did not know. "Please…"

"My Lady!" the woman rasped in a gravelly, strangely accented voice. "My Lady… Goddess!"

"I…"

"...a blessing…" The woman's voice was low, and Bella could hardly hear her over the din.

"Come, Bella!" Carlisle had turned, and was watching as the crowds flocked to her. "Please, stand aside!"

A few listened. Many did not.

"I must go…" Her words went unheard. "Please, let me through…"

"Stand aside!" shouted Carlisle again, and this time, more paid heed. He sounded cross, and the few onlookers who stood nearest him bristled anxiously, shuffling their feet in the dirt. His horse began to pick its way through the bodies towards her. "Let her through!"

More people moved.

"Goddess!" A chant began to rise like a song in the heat. "Blessings from the Goddess!"

"Blessings!"

"Goddess!"

" _Blessings!"_

" _GODDESS!"_

The inexplicable, abject fascination of the crowd was unbelievable. Bella was not used to being the centre of attention— all her life, she had lived on the fringes, always present, but never really a part of the excitement and joy of others. Bella was a quintessential wallflower— always watching, but never watched, always listening, but never heard. She had been a gentle, shy child who had grown into a quiet and introspective woman. Bookish and odd, Bella had never been the kind of person to whom people flocked, nor was she the type that people went out of their way to please. Bella loved her family, and her books, and her dog, and she had always been quite content to live her life in the solitude to which she'd become accustomed.

"I'm not…" Bella stammered, her words stunted and her cadence low as Carlisle took hold of Kora's bridle. Expertly, as one who had ridden for a hundred years, he began to lead her skittish, nervous horse through the narrow path he'd carved through the crowd, just wide enough for the two of them to stagger through. He took her hand when she crept near enough, and Bella clung on for dear life.

"It's alright, Bella." Carlisle spoke softly. "Do not be afraid. None of them wish you ill."

"But," she stuttered, "they're calling me…"

"I know what they call you." He gave her a wan smile. "Just focus on the road, and on Kora. Trust her, and she'll stay true."

"I am _not_ a Goddess!"

The people nearest her shouted even louder. Two hands, both from different petitioners, gripped the hem of her skirt, and she felt a seam give way at her waist when Kora pulled her free.

"I know you're not." Carlisle pursed his lips as yet another wall of people— one that blocked his way to the gates, and to his wife, who'd managed to get through without much struggle— formed on the road. His horse shuffled its way around them.

"Blessings, please…" the women begged.

"For my children!"

"For my brother!"

"My son, Mistress… my only son…"

Bella felt a lump growing in her throat. The noise, deafening at the best of times, seemed incomprehensible now, and the louder the people shouted, the hotter her face grew.

"Goddess!"

"My Lady!"

"Blessings!"

"Please," Bella said, and this time, the desperation rang through. "Please, let us by…"

A man held out a baby to her, and Carlisle tugged Kora forward before he could hand the child up.

"Stand aside!" bellowed Carlisle again, and the ire in his voice was such that even Bella, who clung to him with the utmost fervor, recoiled. Bella had never heard him shout— not even when she'd disobeyed his medical orders back in the blue tower room— and if it was enough to make Bella nervous, it made the crowd falter.

"Stand aside!" shouted another man, and Bella saw an anonymous brown head begin to shoo the crowd away. Bodies shuffled— men and women, all looking deferentially at Carlisle, began to clear the way, widening the path and clearing the road for their safe passage. Though he was not a member of the King's family, nor was he one of his soldiers, his status as the Island Healer evidently held some weight, as while he'd had to shout to make himself heard, once he had been, the people had obeyed.

"I thank you," said Carlisle, though no fatherly smile graced his face now. "The Lady thanks you…"

Bella squeezed his hand with all her strength.

Minutes passed and though the noise did not diminish, the number of hands on her feet and clothing did. They wove their way through the streets, following a well-trodden, earthen path past alleyways and homes, through marketplaces, and around a great, sprawling city garden. Esme caught them as soon as they had passed the blockade of reaching bodies, and just as soon as she could, she took up her post on Bella's other side, effectively blocking her from the curious, starstruck gaze of the rest of Edward's people.

"They won't hurt you, Bella," said Esme. She spoke loud enough for her husband to hear. "They wouldn't hurt you, not when they think you're—"

"I'm _not,"_ Bella repeated, tears still brimming close to the surface. "I'm _not_ what they think I am…"

"I know, darling… I know… It won't be so bad once we're home."

"How far?" asked Bella. "How much further?"

"Nevermind," said Esme. A child threw a flower and it landed on Bella's saddlebag. "Just focus on the present. We're almost to the gates, and it won't be nearly so crowded once we pass through. Just stay close to Carlisle."

Carlisle still had a cautious hand on Kora's bridle.

"I will," Bella vowed, her knuckles gripping the reins so hard they'd turned white. "Don't worry, Esme. I will."

* * *

In the time it took them to clear the village gates and ride through lush, verdant countryside to the edge of the great, green jungle, the sun's hot orb had begun to touch the tips of the swaying palm trees. Bella could still hear the roars of the people, as noisome and unruly as a crowd at a college football game. She could not see their faces, nor could she make out the words they shouted from this great distance, but she could imagine, as plainly as if they _were_ still here, their cries of _"Goddess!"_ and _"blessings!"._ Her ears were ringing in the sudden hush.

"Do you need a break, Bella?" Carlisle's voice, so sharp in the quiet, made her jump. "We can stop here, if you'd like. There's a fine copse of trees ahead that would do well for a rest, and we've got some time to spare before we lose the light. It's got a soft bed of grass to rest on and plenty of shade to get out of the sun for a spell."

"Yes," she replied. "Yes please…"

Her legs were burning.

"Very well." He smiled at his wife. "The spot is just up ahead... about two hundred meters."

They tied the horses to a beam worn down by countless beasts that had been tethered there before theirs. Carlisle had been right— though they were only just past the edge of the thick, verdant treeline, the dim shade in which they sat was delicious. Bella could feel the tight ache at the back of her neck that told of sunburn, and her tongue felt so dry that when she pulled her water pouch from the satchel of rations prepared by the King's kitchen staff, she drank until her stomach protested. The beating headache behind her eyes— no doubt a mix of worry and thirst— eased somewhat when she leaned back against a tree, sighing a great breath of relief.

"Easy…" laughed Carlisle, taking a small sip from his own water pouch. "You'll be sick if you drink too much at once."

"It's hot," complained Bella. "Where I come from, it's almost never as hot as this."

"I can tell," said Carlisle wryly. "Why, if you were any paler, you'd be glowing!"

Bella scowled at him.

"Are you legs very sore?" asked Esme, holding out a piece of hard, seedy bread to her. Bella took it graciously. "Riding is never easy, especially when you're out of practice…"

Bella gave her knees an experimental wiggle on the ground. She felt her thighs protest.

"Not terribly," she conceded. "I'm sure I'll make it."

"If you'd relax, it would go easier," advised Carlisle. "It might be difficult at first, especially after that trek through the village, but it'll do you good in the long run. Are you still nervous?"

"Not so much."

"Try to ease up," Carlisle repeated. "Remember what the stable master said? The horse responds to your legs, as well as your reins."

"Yes…"

"I'd hate for you to develop saddle sores, most especially given the length we've yet to go. If you keep it up, you won't walk straight for a week."

Bella's face flamed red. Esme, who'd only just sat down next to her, gave her husband such a long-suffering stare that Carlisle, blinking confusedly back at her, could only shrug his shoulders.

"She's only a beginner," she said pointedly. "Remember your own early days?"

"Yes," said Carlisle slowly, "and I remember not listening to the stable master when he told me how to sit. I ended up with sores the size of my hand all over my—"

"Regardless," interrupted Esme curtly, "you've done _very_ well so far, Bella." She shot Carlisle a pointed look of annoyance. "We've not even had to slow down."

"No, we haven't, but…"

"Hush." Esme scowled at her husband. "If you've nothing complimentary to say, then I suggest you say nothing at all. I've watched her all the while, and there's nothing at all the matter with her posture on that horse."

Bella had to stifle her grin at the look of affront on Carlisle's face.

Esme patted her on the knee. "You've done a _marvelous_ job with Kora."

The horse, her blonde mane shining in the long streak of sunshine filtering through two glossy palm leaves over head, continued to eat her fill of soft, green grass.

"We're getting used to one another," said Bella, finishing her bread. "She's not half so nervous as she was."

"She's a good horse," chimed in Carlisle, eying his wife with particular curiosity. "She's very young, but altogether reliable, I think."

Kora snorted and tossed her head. Her tail, flicking wildly to and fro, brushed the nose of Carlisle's stallion. His nostrils flared and he gave a low whinny, though Kora paid him no mind.

"How much further is it to your home?" asked Bella. She took a final sip of water from her pouch to wash down the crumbs. "Are we nearly there?"

"Not quite half way," said Esme gently. A bird called out from a branch overhead. "But the rest of the way will be much quicker, now that we are alone on the road. The most we might meet down here are some of the lumbermen, who find good trees for building, or some of Edward's soldiers from the Southern Watchtower."

"Watchtower?" Bella asked, her interest piqued.

"Yes," said Esme gently. "One of four on the island… though only three are used."

"Four?"

"North, south east, and west," said Esme playfully. "One in each quadrant. Only the west is unmanned, given the current climate…"

"Current climate?" Bella saw Carlisle's eyes darken. "What do you mean?"

"That's not a story for such a time or place," said Carlisle wisely, and Esme pursed her lips. "Perhaps we should wait for home?"

Bella looked away.

"She should know, Carlisle…" said Esme gently. "I forget how much she _doesn't_ know. And considering that we're going straight into the trees…"

"There is nothing in these trees," dismissed Carlisle curtly. "Don't frighten her with such nonsense."

"What nonsense?" asked Bella carefully, and Carlisle met her gaze. "Please…"

"I do not wish to frighten you with fairy stories." Carlisle shook his head. "No one _really_ knows the truth of it— only the stories— and…"

"I'm not a child," she said. "Please… what's the worry?"

He stared at her, and Bella felt as if he were looking _through_ her, rather than _at_ her. He considered her for a long moment, almost as if deciding whether or not she really _was_ the adult she claimed to be, before he sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath.

 _"Alia,"_ he said darkly. Though the word was unfamiliar to her, she'd heard it before, in passing. "In the west."

" _Alia?"_ she spoke softly. "What are _alia?"_

Esme shook her head.

"They are a… _faction,"_ she said slowly. "They are, or _were_ , us. But they are no longer."

Bella blinked in confusion. Esme, sighing, leaned back against the trunk of a large tree.

"If you are to understand the present, you must understand the past," said Esme, "for nothing can be made clear in the now, if the _then_ is murky and dim."

Bella waited with bated breath.

"Years ago— what, about a hundred?" Esme looked to Carlisle for clarification.

"Just about," Carlisle said softly.

"When Edward's great-great-grandfather was King," she continued, "there was a disagreement."

Bella listened carefully.

"Now, It might sound strange to you, as one who has come from abroad, but the way we live our lives is based on our stories," said Esme. "We have many— stories for birth, and death, and everything in between."

Carlisle folded his legs, listening with almost as much interest as Bella now that Esme had begun to tell the tale. He seemed to like stories, even though Bella was almost certain that this would not be a happy one.

"Our stories are guiding and sacred," continued Esme, "and the story that tells of marriage— the joining of two souls in sacred unity— is paramount. It tells of _Gertruda_ and _Hermano,_ a woman and her intended, who, when all the world was new, met, and loved, and took their vows. They made a choice, Bella… they _chose_ to be together."

Bella, still listening, paid careful attention.

"That choice is at the center of all things, when it comes to the disagreement between Edward's ancestors and the _Alia._ You see, in the days of King Philippo— Edward's great-great-grandfather— marriage was much as it is today. Couples met, they talked, they found love, and they took their vows. And only after the vows, after they are joined together in spirit, could they be bound together by flesh."

Carlisle squeezed Esme's hand, and Bella felt heat rising up her neck.

"But the vows we take are mutual, you see?" Esme paused, staring intently at Bella's confused and questioning face. "A man cannot force a woman to marry, nor can a woman force a man. Such a union is not a joining of two willing souls, but a theft of something that was not freely given. It is not binding in the eyes of Gods or men."

Bella bit her lip.

"So when King Philippo's only daughter— just a girl— was taken from her bed in the great red tower by the son of his most trusted advisor, it was not a union of love. She was only a child, you see— not quite 13, if the tales are to be believed— and such a vile betrayal of the King's confidence and trust could not go unpunished. The King loved his daughter, as all good fathers should, and it was with great anger and sorrow that he sent his sons out to search for her. They searched the city, and the jungle, and every last homestead in the realm, until they reached the Stony Shore on the western tip of the Island."

Carlisle heaved a sigh. Bella, enraptured by the tale, did not say a word.

"And there they found her," continued Esme, "in a small cave, hidden by the very man who'd stolen her. Bound in chains and frozen half to death with damp and cold, she was pulled from that dank prison by her eldest brother's hands. When he got her warm— he had built her a fire, you see— her captor returned to find his lair raided, and his prize, stolen. The Princess' captor challenged the Prince to single-combat, and the Prince, being the son of the King, could not refuse."

Bella waited with bated breath.

"They fought," Carlisle cut in, his voice as sorrowful and sad as if he, himself, recalled that very fight. "But the captor did not fight fairly. One of the Prince's soldiers— one of the few with the gift of writing— wrote his account for the Judgment that followed, and he wrote that the King's good son, his eldest and his heir, was killed by an arrow, shot by some unseen accomplice hidden atop a fearsome rock face. And so the captor won, and he sent the Prince's body back to his father on the back of a wild, untamed horse."

Bella saw, in her mind's eye, another set of bodies, born aloft by beasts to their grieving, young sons…

"And when the King saw what had become of his son and heir, he grew wild," continued Esme. "His only daughter taken and his eldest son slain, he stormed the Stony Shore with all the might and fortitude of the King's Army. He, himself, did not perish in the fray, but he lost another two sons and the daughter he'd set out to save."

"But…" Bella spoke slowly, her mind racing to keep up. Carlisle stopped her with a raised hand.

"The King went mad when the battle was won," said Esme. "The King's soldiers captured the man responsible and brought him back to the Capital as a traitor. Ranting and raving like a wild thing, the King ordered the man hanged, drawn, and quartered. The captor's father, the King's own chief advisor, pleaded— begged his Lordship for mercy— but the King showed none. The boy was killed, and that was the spark that lit the fires of mutiny. The captor's father— his name has been lost to time— fled the capital under the cover of darkness with a gang of supporters who protested the King's cruelty, and they settled in a crude camp on the Island's west end. Since that same night, the mountains have been nearly impassable."

"Impassable?" asked Bella.

"Their numbers have grown," said Carlisle quietly. "They fled with women and children in tow, and those women and children have had more children of their own. They've formed a proper little settlement by now, if the rumours are to be believed. They guard their territory viciously, and have been known to cross down in the dead of night to wreak havoc on the King's subjects."

"But _why_?" Bella asked, perplexed by the strangeness of this tale. "That was over a hundred years ago, by your own admission… What's the danger now?"

Esme, looking uncharacteristically dark and brooding, barked out a harsh laugh.

"What's the danger?" she asked bitterly, shaking her head. "It's the same danger as before, though now, they are on the move. No longer do they stay in that western hellhole… they're moving inland."

Bella's mouth went dry.

"They've always pillaged and raided along the mountain's edge, ever since the very first generation fled the Island proper. But it's only since the reign of Edward's father that they've grown so brazenly violent. They've never killed until now, but Little Alice's family— the herbalist and his wife and sons— were among the first and most heinous casualties."

"But…" Bella struggled to make sense of it all, " _Why?_ Why kill, or raid, or pillage, when the reason behind the whole thing is over a century old? Why attack innocent people?"

For surely there was no one left living who'd survived the initial fray, and no one left to feel the sting of its losses?

"Why do you think?" asked Esme. Her anger, righteous and formidable, made Bella pause, even though it was not directed at her. "To punish the institution they hold responsible for their own death and suffering. Their supporters and soldiers, killed by their king in the name of freedom. The coveted darling, slain by brutal men weilding wayward swords. And their martyr— the boy who'd dared to love a Princess— killed for love by a cruel and brutal Lord."

"It was _hardly_ love," said Carlisle angrily. "If all accounts are to be believed, the child was not much more than 12 or 13 years old. The advisor's son was a man grown. He claimed the rights of a husband— claimed that their physical binding made him her lord and master— but that girl was a child. It was rape, not love, that bound them together."

Esme fixed him with a suffering stare.

"I _know_ ," she sighed, "but she has asked why the fight has endured, and I give her their reasons."

"They are treasonous fools," said Carlisle softly. "A generation of young people steeped in the hatred of a long-distant war, fuelled by lies fed on silver spoons by old and jaded men. They blame Edward for the sins of their own ancestors… blame the monarchy for denying the match between the son and the Princess, and the royal court for allowing a grieving King's madness to thrive. The advisor's son was never given a trial, you see… he was arrested, tried, and sentenced without so much as a whisper from a court or a jury."

This, Bella did understand— she did not know how justice was handled here, but she did know the value and importance of a fair trial. Where she came from, fairness and equity in the justice system had been a valued, and often contested, issue.

"But no matter what they say, the truth of the matter is this," said Esme. "They— by action or concession— took away a girl's right to choose. That Princess, whether she loved that man or not, was a child, and a child held as an unwilling captive in a dank and dirty cave is no man's true wife. They took away her right to choose, and caused so much death in the process. And for that death they blame the King— King Philippo, a grieving father driven mad by the loss of four beloved children, and his successor King Ecbert, an angry younger son who exiled the traitors to the furthest reaches of the kingdom. And now, though the last two monarchs have tried to bridge the gap between us, the _Alia's_ hatred has trickled down through time and space to rest on Edward's shoulders, whose title represents little more than scornful disgust in the eyes of our enemies."

"And so…" Bella spoke slowly, trying to find the right words, "the soldiers in the tower watch for _Alia,"_ she concluded. "They watch for… violence?"

"The _Alia_ have grown restless in years of late," said Carlisle gently. "Their system is breaking down. They've got precious little arable land, and only one scant tributary to bring them fresh water. The west has always been a hard and ruthless place to live, and the harder it becomes, the wilder they grow."

Bella bit her lip.

"The soldiers watch for action," concluded Carlisle. "They used to watch for signs— signs of peace, signals for aid, desperate pleas for asylum from worn and weary dissenters— but ever since they sent the slain King Edward and his Queen back on the saddles of their own horses, the soldiers watch for action."

A shiver ran down her spine.

"No longer are we a nation of peace," said Carlisle, and Bella could have sworn that even the birds went silent. "For too long, we've been lenient. Edward's own father, a brave and equitable man, tried his best to make amends, but the West has grown restless. And when our enemies grow restless, disaster is sure to follow."

A cracking branch made Bella jump, and Esme clucked her tongue. The spell was broken. The cold wash of fear that had trickled down Bella's back like an icy dewdrop had evaporated, and though she felt the lingering chill in her spine, the singing of birds in the treetops and the croaking of frogs in the undergrowth brought her back to the present.

"Now look," admonished Esme, shaking her head at Carlisle's dire prediction of doom. "You've scared her." Bella felt Esme's warm fingers twining with her own. "Don't be nervous, dear… we're quite a ways from any danger."

But Bella, staring up at the great, dark canopy, did not feel safe at all. What had seemed like friendly, twisty trees now became copses of espionage, wherein any form or figure might be lurking. The shade of leaves, bright and green as they filtered the sunshine, seemed like perfect shelter for a sharpshooting archer, like the one in Esme's story. The dips and valleys on the jungle floor, thus far unnoticed and innocuous, seemed like perfect hiding places for any manner of man, or beast…

"Come," said Carlisle, looking only a little guilty. "Don't worry yourself unnecessarily. Despite all the rumours, there have never been any _Alia_ in the trees, and even if there were, we'd have heard of their arrival. You'd have never been let out of the Capital had there been any threat of danger."

Bella tried to calm herself.

"But we should be getting on," said Carlisle, glancing carefully through a gap in the leaves overhead. "The sun dips even further, and if we want to make it to the cabin before nightfall, we must continue on. Are you well enough to ride again, Bella?"

Rising to her feet, Bella felt the lingering ache in her legs reigniting like embers in a hearth. She stamped her feet, determined to shake the stiffness away, and though Carlisle grimaced sympathetically at her and shook his head, she dashed for her horse.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Let's keep moving."

The promise of darkness weighed heavily on her, and the threat of _Alia_ made her anxious heart throb.

 **A/N: Thank you so much for your patience. It's been very much appreciated. Life has been nuts, but things SEEM to be getting back on track (fingers crossed). I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**

 **Let me know what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Through the open bedroom window Bella listened, wide-eyed, to the rhythmic, rushing of waves lapping at a distant shore as she lay on her feather tick. The candle by her bed burned low, its soft glow sending the merest hint of light across the clay walls and rough-hewn floor— just enough to cast eerie shadows that made her heart throb. The night was quiet— beyond the rushing water, Bella heard only chirping crickets and frogs, and the odd, lonely cry of a night-dwelling bird high in the canopy above the jungle floor. The crackling fire in the great kitchen hearth had died down, the quiet voices of her hosts had been silenced by sleep, and the gentle sounds of their evening toilet had faded with the sun.

Bella watched the dancing shadow of her dress on the far wall, and bit back the sudden lump that grew in her throat as the flame made it ebb and flow. When she watched it head-on, it looked exactly as it was— an unused garment hung on a smooth, wooden hook. But when she looked away, even slightly, it looked like a phantom— a strange, ethereal ghost come back from childhood nightmares to haunt her, seeping out of the blackness of the jungle like a spectre.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing this sudden, irrational fear away.

She should be tired. She should be _exhausted_ , really, given the day she'd had. She'd risen at dawn to ride miles through the jungle on horseback. Her legs ached fiercely, even after she'd coaxed Kora into a small, secure pen. She'd helped Carlisle heave great bags of grain into troughs, which were usually reserved for the animals of guests and patients, and she had tidied the yard as the three hungry horses ate their fill. She'd drawn water from a well, her arms burning with the weight of it, and poured bucket after bucket for the horses and Carlisle's stubborn, marauding mules. Carlisle had last been to the homestead two days prior to feed and tend to the animals, and though he had been sure he'd locked the gate behind him, it had taken nearly two hours of frustrated searching to find the creatures, deep in the undergrowth of the jungle, munching happily on a copse of wild berries and not too eager to be disturbed.

She'd aired bedrooms with Esme. She'd learned the art of wrestling a feather tick. She'd helped with sweeping the dusty floors, kindling a fire in the great, blackened hearth, collecting ripe and bursting tomatoes from the wild and aromatic garden out back, and finally, cutting steadily through a pile of legumes and root vegetables with a knife so sharp that she had almost sliced her fingers twice.

Esme had sent her to bed when the sky was still scarlet and crimson, shooing her away with an ewer of water for washing, a waxy candle burned half-way down the wick, and a thin, light nightdress.

But Bella, exhausted and sore as she was, had washed and slipped into the aforementioned feather bed with much trepidation, as the sounds, smells, and sights of the unfamiliar bedroom sent her into fits of nerves.

She'd been here before, or so they'd told her. Bella had no recollection of this place, but she knew, from Carlisle himself, that this was the place she'd been brought after the King's commander and brother had found her, half dead, on the sandy southern shores. Bella had seen the place where she must have lain— a dip in the floor of the main room where a pile of cushions, blankets, and furs lay heaped in great piles, with a low-lying table near the fireplace lined with bottles of tinctures and salves. Bandages, wound and white, lay in baskets on the corner of the bed, and along the far wall, hanging on pegs, Bella saw an assortment of brutal-looking medical instruments.

She tried not to linger on those.

Bella turned over in bed, heaving a great sigh as she blinked up at the darkened roof. The ropes holding her mattress in the frame were tight, but they creaked when she shifted her weight. The candle flickered, flaring for the merest moment and she stared, frowning at the dark wood of the central rafter, holding up the thatch that made up the roof.

She could hear Esme's voice in her head.

" _What is it that you're looking for, exactly?"_

She had asked the question hesitatingly, watching Bella nervously while she had peeled potatoes for the evening meal. Bella had frowned at her, surprised by the directness of this query, and wondering, despite this, how it was that Esme had not asked it before.

" _The sea,"_ Bella had replied, her words slow and cautious. _"The sea, and…"_

Esme had frowned at her then, and Bella had felt her cheeks flush pink with sudden discomfort. Esme waited for her to speak, to confirm the lingering desire that had consumed Bella with the vigour and passion of a wildfire, but she had fallen silent, and continued on with the meal.

 _And a boat_ , she had wanted to say. _Or a plane, or a dinghy, or a raft, just so long as it took her away from this place and towards the civilization she had left behind._

Esme's disheartened sigh had haunted Bella for the rest of the evening, though she said nothing of it to either of her hosts.

 _There will be no boat, Bella…_ she could almost hear Carlisle's words, as if he stood beside her now, whispering. _There are no boats in the south…_

Bella shook her head, dispelling these omens of gloom. There _might_ be a boat. Tomorrow, when she went down to the beach, there was still a chance, however slight, that she would find what she was looking for.

The wind howled through the trees outside, drowning out the sound of the waves as the shadow of a great, swooping bird dove past the open window.

* * *

"You're up very early."

The voice, spoken in the thick, impermeable silence, made Bella jump as she pushed the kettle onto the glowing embers. Water sloshed over the sides and down into the young flames, crackling and sizzling madly.

"Good morning, Esme," Bella said. "You scared me."

"I am sorry," Esme chuckled, wrapping her apron tightly around her waist. She was already dressed. Bella, still in her nightclothes and wrapped in the sheet from her bed, curled her toes in the fireplace dust.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm…" Bella's noncommittal reply made Esme frown.

"Was the bed comfortable?"

"Oh yes," said Bella, more honestly this time. "Everything was lovely, Esme. It was just… new." She finished her sentence awkwardly, and Esme laughed at her again.

"I understand," she soothed. "New places are always a bit uncomfortable, aren't they?"

Bella grimaced.

"Can I interest you in tea?" asked Bella, eying the simmering kettle. "It's almost at a boil."

"Here…" Esme reached over for two fired clay mugs, resting gently on the mantle. While Bella watched the kettle, she spooned two scoops of loose-leaf tea into each cup. Bella took the kettle carefully in wrapped hands and, conscious of the heat blazing through the cloth, poured two measures of boiling water into the waiting mugs.

She rubbed her palm, grimacing, when she put the kettle down.

"Did you get a burn?" asked Esme anxiously, reaching out to examine her palm. "Let me see…"

"No," said Bella quickly. She balled her hand into a fist. "It's fine. Just warm."

The tea, however, was far too hot, and she burned her tongue on the first sip.

Esme laughed at her again.

"Why don't you get dressed while it cools?" she suggested. "Carlisle should be up soon, and I expect he'll want an early start. There is much to do around the homestead, and the work has piled up since we've been away…"

Bella's cheeks pinkened.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I don't mean to cause trouble…"

Esme scoffed. "You're no trouble at all," she said generously. "You were a great help yesterday."

Bella stood, clutching her sheet around her shoulders.

"Thanks, Esme," she said. "For having me, I mean. It's very kind of you."

"Oh, shoo," smiled Esme, waving her off. "Go and get dressed. I'll rustle something up for breakfast."

Bella heard her rummaging through the breadbox as she retired to her bedroom, passing a tousled, but quite alert Carlisle on the way.

"Good morning, Bella," he said, glancing down her bare legs. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," squeaked Bella. She slipped through the doorway of the spare bedroom. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," he chuckled. "We're in no rush."

Bella closed the door with a _snap._

Stumbling her way through dressing was more of an ordeal alone than it had been with little Alice to help her. Although the clothes she wore were simple— all plain fabrics and sturdy constructions— there were fastenings and ties in places Bella had never before seen. The buttons along the back of the dress forced her to reach at an odd angle, straining painfully against the persistent ache in her still-healing wrist, to reach the last of them. The belt at her waist required a complicated knot— one that Alice had taught her, but that she had yet to master in the deft, uncomplicated way Alice always tied it. Even her sandals were tied, lacing past her ankles and up her calves until she got fed up and wound the laces three times around her lower leg to tighten the slack.

She washed her face in the tepid water in the ewer from the night before, and wound her hair into a hasty, unskilled braid, before she emerged from the bedroom feeling slightly less useless. The smell of bread was thick as she re-entered the main room, where she was shuttled onto a low stool.

Esme pressed a platter of toast on her, and she slid the warm cup of tea towards her.

"Drink," she commanded. Bella brought her cup to her lips. "Eat."

Carlisle bit his toast pointedly at her, and Bella copied his example.

"Thank you," she said, her words muffled around the food. "It's lovely."

"It's only toast," said Esme. "Eat that up, and I'll whip up some eggs. Those catty old hens laid quite a few while we were away, and it's about time we were eating them."

Bella, nibbling at the edge of her toast, watched as Esme cracked half a dozen eggs into a large, black, cast iron skillet.

"Where did that come from?" Bella asked. Esme looked askance at her, and she jerked her chin at the fire. "The pan," she clarified. "It looks like the ones we've got at home."

Carlisle grinned, a little guiltily.

"I suppose it might be," he conceded. Esme stirred the eggs. "Did I ever tell you about my father?"

"No," Bella finished her toast. "Was he a cook?"

"Heavens no," laughed Carlisle. "He was a collector."

"A collector?"

"Yes," said Carlisle. "You see, each family in Marolando has a trade," he began.

"The King mentioned that…"

"Did he?" Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "Well… my family's trade is medicine. We've been healers since the day Marolando rose from the sea."

Bella bit her cheek to keep her mouth shut.

"But my father, bless him, never caught on to the medicines like he should have."

Esme giggled.

"That's why I've been the healer for so long, you see… when my father's lack of prowess showed, my grandfather gave up in despair and turned to me, instead."

"And so your father became a collector?" asked Bella curiously. "Of what?"

"Living so close to the sea means that we've always spent plenty of time at the beach," said Carlisle, "and the beach can a strange place…"

Bella stared at him.

"What I mean is that no matter how the ocean currents run, most things that wash up here appear on the southern shores of the island," he explained. "That's how you ended up there, and not on the northern coast. It's where my father found all his trinkets."

"What trinkets?"

"That thing, for one." Carlisle nodded at the frying pan. "It was rusted to bits when he found it, but a good scouring and cleaning brought it back to life."

"What else did he find?"

"All sorts," Carlisle said. "Odd trinkets, and sea glass, seashells, and stones. Strange bits of wood, coins with unfamiliar faces, and even old books, with words we cannot read."

Bella's eyes widened.

"Books?" she asked. Esme shot Carlisle a warning glance. "What sorts of books?"

It was Carlisle's turn to go red.

"We can't be sure…"

"Because you can't read them?"

"Not exactly," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll show you, someday, but…"

"But?"

"But they are blasphemous books," explained Carlisle quickly. "The books were banned by Edward's grandfather— he was a most careful and pious man— and though I'm sure Edward would never have us arrested for such a minor crime, it is best not to flaunt them."

Esme placed a plate of eggs before her, thrusting a fork into her hands, but Bella did not eat.

"How do you know they're blasphemous if you can't read them?"

"Ah…" Carlisle smiled gently at her. "There were men who could read them… those that spoke the Old Language."

"Which language was that?"

"I do not know it's name… no one does, now that the Ancient Ones are gone."

"Gone?"

"Dead," he said softly, and Bella frowned worriedly. "No, no… nothing to fear. They were old men when I was just a child. It is nature's way."

Bella stirred the food on her plate.

"I…" she began slowly. "Where did the books come from?"

"The sea," said Carlisle, "as I've said. My father found them…"

"No, before that," Bella asked. "Where did they come from before they were lost at sea? Is there a name inside?"

"I… do not know," admitted Carlisle. "The Old Ones said they were from the Gods, though I don't know if I believe that…"

"Eat your breakfast, before it gets cold," Esme cut in, smiling tensely at Bella. "Enough of this talk. You've not even taken a bite!"

Carlisle, smiling deferentially at his wife, took a hearty mouthful and swallowed it down.

"Lovely, as always, dear," he complimented. One flashing look from him told Bella to do the same. "I thank the Gods everyday for your cooking."

Esme brushed him off, but even Bella could see the pleased smile on her lips.

* * *

"Be _careful,_ " implored Esme, reaching up to hand Carlisle a packet of hard bread for the road. "Don't let her get into trouble."

Bella pretended not to listen as she fussed with Kora's saddle, adjusting the stirrup so she could reach.

"There's no trouble to be had," said Carlisle soothingly. "The beach will be empty. What are you so afraid of?"

"You _know_ the risks," said Esme dubiously. "What if there is danger on the beach?"

"The watchtower hasn't sounded the alarm," soothed Carlisle. "If they do, you know what to do?"

"Yes, yes…" Esme brushed him off. "But you need to keep safe. You need to keep _her_ safe."

"We'll both be fine and well, darling, you'll see." Carlisle stooped to kiss her. "Now, be at ease, Esme. We'll be home in time for supper."

"I hope so." Esme glanced at Bella, and Bella looked swiftly away. She did not have the heart to tell Esme that she had no plans to return. She would find a boat or an ocean-faring raft, and she would be gone. She would catch a plane overhead. She would catch a ship on some trade route. She might even catch…

Esme's arms around her shoulders made Bella's heart leap, though she returned the embrace with hearty and fierce enthusiasm.

"Thank you for everything," said Bella. "Truly."

"I'll see you at supper," said Esme firmly. "We'll have chicken stew."

Bella smiled dully at her.

"Thanks, Esme," she said again. "You've been a great help to me."

"Be safe, Bella," she said. "Listen to Carlisle. If the watchtower sounds the alarm, you must come straight home. If you see anything suspicious, run away."

"I'll be perfectly safe," said Bella soothingly. "I promise. Have a wonderful day, Esme, and thank you again."

Esme kissed her cheek, but said nothing else.

"Are we ready, Bella?" asked Carlisle. He was already seated atop his horse. "We're about a twenty-minute ride to the water."

"Yes," said Bella quickly. "Yes. Thank you."

She took Kora's bridle in her fist, and, patting the horse carefully on the neck, Bella took hold of her reins and swung herself up into the saddle, her legs aching as they settled into her riding position.

"Walk on," she said softly, giving the reins a slight wiggle. Kora began to move, falling into step beside Carlisle's stallion, and Bella looked back one last time at Esme, who was waving her goodbye from the wooden gate.

"We'll be fine, but Esme does worry," said Carlisle softly, once they were out of earshot. Almost as soon as they entered the trees, Bella felt the sudden coolness of shade.

"She's very kind," Bella said, "to worry about me."

"She worries about everyone," chuckled Carlisle. "But you've taken up residence in that big heart of hers, so she'll worry about you until the end of time."

A twinge of conscience made Bella grimace, and Carlisle, observant as ever, did not miss it. He was silent for a long moment, the horses trotting lithely along the wide path, before he spoke.

"I know what you hope to find," he said finally, "and I understand the desire, but I warn you, Bella— you will not find what you're looking for down here."

Bella said nothing.

"There are no boats on the southern shore. There are precious few boats on the _northern_ shore, though that's where the fishing wharfs are. Our people are not a seafaring people."

Bella sighed.

"I have to try," she said. "Why did you agree to take me if you know I'm wrong?"

"Because I think you'd have tried, regardless," he said easily. "I'm old enough to know stubbornness when I see it, and that single-minded determination has been rolling off of you ever since you were conscious enough to remember what had happened. Don't think I've forgotten how badly you've been yearning for home."

Bella sighed, but did not disagree.

"I ended up on this island somehow," said Bella quietly, "so there must be a way off of it."

Carlisle glanced carefully at her.

"Are you unhappy here?" he asked. "Are we so different from your own people?"

The question reminded her of Jasper. He had asked her much the same thing, though with more anger and disappointment concealed behind his handsome, boyish face. The way Carlisle said it was much different— he sounded sombre and soft, with a look of calm acceptance on his face, but when he turned to face the light, Bella caught a distinct sadness in his eyes.

"...no," she hesitated, though her red cheeks belied her falsehood. "You are not so different."

"But you _are_ unhappy," he finished. He did not ask her this time. "I am sorry you're not happy."

Bella bit her lip to keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

"It's not that," she said quickly. "You've been wonderful… all of you."

"Even my youngest nephew?" laughed Carlisle. "He did leave you out on your own, with no one but dogs for company."

Bella chuckled as well.

"Even him," she conceded. "It's just…"

"I understand," said Carlisle. He pulled his horse closer to hers. "Truly, I do. I can't imagine being torn from my family, my life here…"

"I have a family too," she said. "I have my uncle, who's probably absolutely _frantic_ , and my best friend, Jake. And my dog…"

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. _God, how she missed her dog…_

"I understand," said Carlisle, more softly than before. "I'm sorry, Bella…"

"You've been wonderful," she said again. "And even though I _know_ you'll be right about the boats, I can't stop trying. I _need_ to try. I owe them that much."

Carlisle gave her a soft smile.

"They probably think I'm dead," she whispered. She'd thought the words many times before, but saying them out loud brought a new, queer ache to her chest. "I don't even know if they're looking for me."

"Oh, Bella," Carlisle reached out and took her hand. "They're looking. If there's one true thing I know about family, it's that they will never stop looking for the ones they love, even when all hope is lost."

* * *

The beach was blazing white.

Stopped in the dusty reaches where the jungle met the sky, Bella knelt, scooping up a handful of the fine sugar sand at the far edge of the beach. The waves roared as they crashed against the coast, and though she could see the wet waterline only feet from where she sat, the ebbing tide was already pulling the salty sea back to its briny depths.

"It's huge," said Bella in disbelief. "I didn't think it would be so big."

"It's about three leagues from end to end," remarked Carlisle. "The largest beach on the island."

"There's more than one?" asked Bella. "How many more?"

"One sandy beach," answered Carlisle. "That's the one where you were found. And of course, there's the rocky shore just past the Rocklands in the north. There are some access points in the west as well, but for the most part, the island's coast is made up of cliffs. This is the lowest point on the island, and the highest cliffs are bordering the Bay of Tides."

"What do they call this one?" Bella rose to her feet and dusted her knees.

"Big Beach," laughed Carlisle. "Not very creative, I know… Three guesses as to what they call the other one."

Bella smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. True to Carlisle's word, Bella saw no other living soul on the shore, and there was certainly no hint of a boat.

Not even a dock to launch one, or a misplaced rope or oar.

"I…" Bella stared out at the lapping waves. "I didn't think…"

"Do you not have beaches where you're from?" asked Carlisle. Over the course of their ride to the coast, he'd asked Bella a great number of questions about where she was from. She'd told him all about her house, and the schools she'd attended, and the job she'd been prepared to take all the way across the water. She wasn't sure he believed her— not when she'd started talking about airplanes and air travel, but he'd listened anyways with a polite smile on his face and a curious twinkle in his eye. He'd even asked her about her language— the one which no one here seemed to speak— and when she'd introduced herself to him in English, a simple _"My name is…"_ and _"How do you do?"_ , he'd been as pleased as punch.

"We have beaches," said Bella. "Plenty of them. Though none like this where I'm from. And never one this bare. The beaches by my house were cold, and always so wet."

"This beach is wet," supplied Carlisle unhelpfully. He gestured pointedly towards the receding water. "And see? Not so bare…"

He glanced pointedly at the hovering trees, which lined the edge of the sand so thickly that Bella wondered how a path had ever been carved through at all.

"I mean _people,"_ Bella amended. "If we had a beach like this— so warm, and white, and sunny— there would be an endless stream of people here to swim."

"I see," said Carlisle, though Bella was sure he did not. "I…"

He trailed off suddenly, and Bella blinked up at him through the glare of the sun.

"What?" she asked. He was staring out at the water, his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Bella saw caution rise in him as though a switch had been flicked, and all of his mirth and joy drained away at once.

"Do you see that?" he asked. Bella glanced out to where he was looking. "No, a little to the left… just there."

He pointed, and Bella had to squint to make out what he was seeing. She saw water— the glaring, sparkling blue that crested in white-capped waves along the distant horizon. She saw sand— an endless, sprawling desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. She saw rocks— big ones poking out of sandbars some thirty feet out to sea, and little ones— pebbles, really— that lined the shore where the waves had brought them up. She saw a bird— one of the massive, curious bluebirds that roosted on the city rooves in King Edward's capital, and a lonely crab, scuttling on his stunted legs towards the soothing shade of a coconut tree…

"Where?" she asked. "I don't see anything."

"Just there," he said, pointing again to something Bella could not see. He jogged out towards the water, leaving his horse tied to a nearby tree, and Bella followed after him, her feet sinking into the sand.

"What?" she asked again, reaching the edge of the water. Carlisle paused for a moment, glancing down at her, before he pointed again, and Bella stared out at the sea.

Had the tide not been ebbing, Bella was sure she would never have seen the object that had attracted Carlisle's attention. Some fifty feet out, bobbing slightly in the wading surf, was a bulky, black _something_ that Bella could just make out.

"What is it?" she asked, watching as the thing crested and fell with each coming wave. The current seemed to be tugging it back out to sea, though its movements were slow, and Bella felt hypnotized by the rhythmic rise and fall.

"I don't know," said Carlisle. Bella watched as he shed his sandals. "Watch yourself…"

He waded out into the surf, moving smoothly through the water until he was waist-deep, reaching out with one, long arm to take hold of it.

Bella knew what it was just as soon as he turned around.

Though Carlisle looked confused and baffled by this strange find, Bella felt a sinking sort of nausea in her stomach at the sight of the thing. She knew what it was, though it did not belong to her, and as he carried the sodden, heavy thing closer to shore, Bella wondered what else from her ill-fated flight might wash up on the beach.

He laid the suitcase down with care, glancing nervously at Bella as she felt along the sides for the hidden zipper.

"Do you know what it is?" asked Carlisle anxiously. He slipped his feet back into his sandals. "I've never seen the like of it."

"Yes," said Bella. She tugged at the zipper. "It's called a _suitcase."_

The English word made him grimace as Bella prized it open.

The case had evidently belonged to a man. Bella sifted through pairs of sodden jeans, hastily bundled, stinking polo shirts, a broken stick of deodorant, and a plastic file folder full of what might have been paper. Bella dumped the grey slop onto the sand, looking for a name or some other identifying material, but the wasted paper was nothing but sludge, and she soon had the case emptied.

Carlisle picked up the empty, plastic Old Spice stick, and gave it an experimental sniff.

"Is…" Carlisle spoke slowly as Bella began sifting through the pile again. "Is this yours?"

"No," she said softly. "I don't know who it belongs to."

Carlisle blew out a breath.

"Well…" He peered back at the horses. "Do you want to take it?"

"I…" Bella sat back in the sand. "What if there are others?"

"Others?"

"Other bags?" Bella asked. "Other… things."

She felt a queasiness rising in her stomach— a sort of queasiness that she hadn't felt before, and one that threatened to linger.

"Things?" Carlisle was confused. "What kinds of things?"

She bit her lip.

Bella did not remember much from her journey on the airplane. She remembered saying goodbye to her Uncle Charlie at the security checkpoint, remembered how he'd waved her off with misty eyes and a toothy smile as she'd winked at him through the glass divider that separated him from her. She remembered the friendly flight attendant on the first plane— the one she'd taken from Seattle to Los Angeles— and she remembered the sheer size of the second plane, which had been destined for Beijing. She remembered how nervous she had been, watching through the window as the plane taxied across the tarmac, all the while listening raptly to the safety demonstration.

She didn't remember taking off. She didn't remember whether or not she'd had a drink from the cart, or if she'd gotten in trouble for having her headphones in to keep her calm. She remembered the smiling attendant with her jaunty kerchief, the red shirt of the little boy beside her, and the words that smiling attendant had spoken as she dismantled one of the blue airplane seats.

" _...your seat bottom cushion can be used as a flotation device. Pull the cushion up from the seat, slip your arms into the straps, and hug the cushion to your chest…"_

Her heart in her throat, Bella scanned the water's surface with a reluctant dread settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

"What is it?" asked Carlisle, glancing nervously out to sea. "Do you see something else?"

"No," murmured Bella, letting out a long, hissing breath. "No, I don't see anything."

"Well…" Carlisle cleared his throat. "Shall we move on? The beach is quite long, and you do want to see where they found you?"

"Yes," said Bella. "Yes, let's move on."

She left the ransacked suitcase behind on the beach.

* * *

Bella stared, dismayed, at the collection of detritus on the shore of Little Beach.

"We must send for some assistance, Bella," said Carlisle gently. She barely felt his hands on her back. "We must send for aid."

She felt absolutely, positively sick. Unable to stop the bile rising in her throat, she doubled over and wretched, her eyes streaming and her heart pounding.

"It's alright, Bella," Carlisle turned her away from the water. "Don't look…" He held her braided hair out of the line of fire when she wretched again, the putrid wind blowing off of the water setting her off.

They were littered all across the edge of the ocean. Some clung to floating aircraft seats, some were tossed haphazardly ashore by the flowing tides, and others bobbed limply in the surf as Bella bit back a third bout of nausea. The beach was a wreck— suitcases, broken and torn, had spilled their contents onto the sand. Bits of plastic— large chunks the size of car doors and some pieces as small as slivers— littered the ground and sea. Charred metal, bent and warped as if by the hands of a deranged craftsman, lay all across the beach like some twisted display of modern art. A passport lay half-buried in the sand near her feet.

But between the mess of metal, cloth, and plastic, lay the bodies— dozens of lifeless, bloated corpses, all rotting in the noontime sun.

Bella could not speak.

"Sit down, sweetheart." Carlisle urged her to her knees, lowering her carefully onto the sand as he procured her water bag from the saddle of her horse. He urged her to drink. "You're very pale, Bella, and it will not do for you to faint now. Are you alright?"

"They're all dead," she heard herself say. _"All dead…"_

"Yes." Carlisle pursed his lips. "I'm very sorry."

Bella spat water onto the sand, washing the taste of sick from her mouth.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice high and panicked. She could not tear her eyes away from the sight. "We can't just leave them here…"

 _Though the thought of pulling them out made her stomach roil again._

"No…" Carlisle shook his head. "We must send for help."

"From who?" she asked, barking a short, almost hysterical laugh. "From who, Carlisle?"

He simply shook his head.

"Rest a moment," he urged. Bella brushed his hand away when he brought it to her forehead. "Just rest here, and drink some water. Do you feel like you'll be sick again?"

"I…" Bella could not answer. "Carlisle, what are we going to _do?"_

He stared at her again.

"They're all dead," she repeated. "All of them…"

 _That could have been her, had she been caught in the current…_

"Yes," he repeated again. "I'm very sorry… did you know them?"

"No." Bella clamped her eyes shut to keep her water down. "No…"

"Alright… do not fret, Bella… we will call for help."

She laughed through her tears, swallowing hard to keep herself under control. Carlisle, glancing nervously at the scene of carnage, shook his head and drew himself up to his full height.

"Sit and rest," he ordered, and Bella felt no urge to disobey. "I'll be right back."

Her head snapped up.

"Don't leave me here," she begged. "Please, don't leave me here with them…"

"Hush, child, I'm not leaving you anywhere," he soothed. "I'm collecting leaves. That's all."

Bella blinked.

"Leaves?"

"Yes." He reached up to a low-hanging branch of a coconut tree and tugged a handful of leaves from their stalky stems. "Leaves are wet, and if I can gather enough damp kindling to start a fire, the smoke will signal to the Southern Watchtower."

Bella's mouth was dry.

"Smoke?"

"Rest, Bella," said Carlisle anxiously. She did not fight him when he felt her forehead again. "Lay back. You are very pale."

"I…"

He dropped the leaves and pushed her gently to the ground. The sand beneath her cheek was itchy, though when her head hit the ground, some of the dizziness crept away.

"Good girl," praised Carlisle. He tossed his leaves towards the open space between the jungle and the ocean. "Just rest for a moment, and try to keep calm."

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

Minutes felt like hours as Bella lay, her eyes fixed on the scene of death and destruction that lined the shore. They peppered the beach like pebbles— one here, a few there, until the whole visible shore was covered with them. Bella had ridden up on them first— testing Kora's speed had been a wild mistake, and it was only after Carlisle had heard her shrill, startled cry that he'd come running too.

He found her on the sand, kneeling beside the stranger's mottled, swollen face, and though Bella could see that the woman was clearly dead, it had not stopped her from taking the face in her hands.

Cold, wet, slimy… and putrid. The smell had made her absolutely sick, and she had run, tears streaming, back to the jungle while Carlisle took in the scene.

Bella watched as he used the flint from his saddlebag to coax the damp, reluctant leaves to kindling. The fire was slow to catch— Bella saw Carlisle lay on his front, blowing gently at the pile until the entire thing went up in orange flames. A tunnel of black smoke, blowing gently westward on the wind, went with it, and Bella prayed to every god she knew that someone might see it.

Bella stood, disobeying Carlisle's orders, and tried to collect some more leaves to add to the blaze. Carlisle watched her carefully, eying her every move as she robotically dropped leaf after leaf on the growing inferno, until they heard the distinct sounds of hooves on the sand, and he thrust her behind him.

"Stay close," said Carlisle, and Bella noticed, for the first time, that he held the handle of a long, sharp dagger at his waist. "Don't move until I tell you."

Bella held her breath in her chest, which helped ward off the smell, until she felt Carlisle's body relax as a group of men rode into view.

"Healer," said one man, surprised. "What…?"

The four men, all dressed in the red and gold brocade of the King's Army, blinked stupidly at the sight of the dead, all laying just as they'd been found.

"What happened?" asked one man, descending from his horse. "Are you alright, Healer? My Lady?"

"We need men," said Carlisle hoarsely. "The Lady and I cannot move them on our own, and they deserve a proper burial."

Bella's lip trembled, and she bit it, hard, to keep it still.

"Are you alright?" asked the man again. He advanced on Bella with concern. "What has happened here?"

Carlisle, faltering for the first time that day, glanced at Bella with abject concern etched on every line of his face. Bella cleared her throat, speaking carefully.

"They were… with me," she said awkwardly. "When I fell… they were there too."

The man glanced out to sea, to the place where Bella knew the plane had fallen, and his eyes went wide.

"They were… falling?" he asked. "They've fallen?"

"They've fallen, and they've died," said Bella awkwardly. "And I might have too, if…"

The dam broke then, and the man asked no further questions when Carlisle pulled her to him. Bella clung to him— felt the sturdy weight of him beneath her cheek, and the strength of his arms as he wrapped them around her shoulders in a fierce and sorrowful embrace. She could not stop her tears— they came hot and heavy, no matter how hard she fought them back— and they soaked through the collar of his shirt before he could utter so much as a _"there there"._

"You're safe, Bella," he said. "I'm so sorry… you're safe. I'll take you back to Esme. You don't need to see this…"

But Bella, shaking her head profusely, clung even tighter.

"I can't!" she said, though she wished it could be otherwise. "I can't just… _leave_ them!"

"There is nothing we can do for them now, Bella," mourned Carlisle. "They've been gone for some time. The most we can do is give them a proper service…"

Bella felt a wild, almost untamable fear growing in her chest. It gripped her like a claw until it took hold of her heart, and squeezed, and pulled it hard.

 _How was she not dead?_

"Hush, darling…" Carlisle tightened his hold when her quiet cries turned to noisy sobs, and her knees began to shake. "It's alright, Bella. You're quite safe…"

Through the tears, Bella saw the four strange soldiers wade into the surf, and two-by-two, they began hauling bodies out of the water. Bella fought for control of herself, grateful for Carlisle's steady support, as they laid out corpses side-by-side, until they were all laid out in rows, shoulder-to-shoulder at the edge of the water.

Carlisle pulled back then, glancing back over the row with sorrow, and Bella looked too, counting.

Twenty six long, bodies, all lumpy and misshapen…

And one small one, on the very far end, with a copse of dark, salty hair, and a bright red shirt.

" _Wow mom! We're shaking!"_

" _Yes, Jeffrey…"_

"He's only a boy…"

At her words, Carlisle glanced to where she stared, and his face fell even further.

"I'm very sorry, Bella…" He hugged her to him again. "I'm so very sorry…"

"His name is Jeffrey."

Carlisle squeezed her.

"He was so excited to fly…"

She broke down all over again.

"Come, Bella…" Carlisle pressed a kiss to her brow. "Come away, now. It's time to go… the soldiers will do their job, and all will be well. You'll see…"

He led her to Kora, and Bella mounted her horse with shaking legs. Her horse was steady, even though Bella's tense body squeezed the saddle too hard, and she stayed perfectly calm as Bella fumbled with the reins.

"Come, now… I'm taking you home to Esme. You need some food, a bath, and a good, long cry before you settle down to sleep. Esme will take good care of you, darling…"

He took Kora's reins from her limp and shaking fingers, and led her at a swift canter towards the trail that would lead them home.

But Bella, every fibre in her body shaking, could not rid herself of that sight, no matter how many tears she cried, or how badly her stomach roiled.

Even with her eyes closed, she saw the scene like an etching in stone. A happy, laughing child, beguiled by the mysteries of sky and clouds, turned topsy-turvy in an instant when the world fell apart, and he was stuck, screaming, as his hands were stained with Mother's blood.

 **A/N: Thank you for the wait! As many of you know, this story has been nominated for a Twific Fandom Award in the Undiscovered Gems category. We've made it past Round 1 of voting, and Round 2 opens today (February 25). If you're interested in voting, please head over to the Twific Fandom Awards blogspot page to cast your vote! Thank you so much to everyone who nominated and voted for this story.**

 **As always, let me know what you think of the chapter! Poor Bella can't catch a break.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Bella careened into the yard with frantic and urgent swiftness, her heart in her throat and her face glazed with salty tears. She held Kora's reins in trembling fingers as she focused on the rise and fall— the familiar, predictable movement of the mare's four hooves as she stamped her feet in a steady rhythm. Her thighs gripped the saddle painfully hard. Her fingers, white and stiff, did not loosen their grip as she urged the horse this way and that, navigating around wayward roots and low-hanging branches. The horse, once so knavish and fickle, was a model of discipline and sobriety as Bella urged her on, leaving Carlisle and his aging stallion in the dust they kicked up. Kora seemed to sense her rider's anxiety, and as a result, seemed just as eager to return to the homestead as Bella herself.

Bella saw Esme before Esme saw her. Crouching on bended knee in her fenced-in garden, Bella caught a brief glimpse of her leaning down to pull up a bright, orange carrot from the earth, her face shaded by the brim of the overlarge sun hat perched atop her head. Beyond the rushing fear and chaos coursing through her, Bella felt a pang of sad, nostalgic yearning. She could almost hear the Beatles song, so soft and faint in the back of her mind, just the way her mother used to sing it as she dug her own holes deep in the brown, packed earth of their Seattle garden.

Bella saw Esme's easy smile disappear as soon as she heard Kora's stamping hooves on the path. She rose in a shot, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes as she squinted through the glare, her eyes narrowing on Bella as she brought the horse to a screeching halt at the edge of the yard. The gate blocked her path— that great, carved masterpiece depicting scenes from myths Bella had never heard— standing tall and firm. When she fell from Kora's back in her haste to dismount, landing hard on her backside in the dust, she heard Esme's cry of worry before the warm, dirt-stained hands were hauling her back to her feet.

"What's wrong?" She demanded. Bella winced as she flexed her sore wrist. "Where's Carlisle? What's happened?"

Bella heard Carlisle's own horse galloping furiously through the jungle mere seconds before he, too, burst from the trees, his bright eyes raking worriedly over his wife and the girl. Bella didn't move when Esme tugged at her, those kind eyes flickering nervously between her consternated husband and Bella's throbbing wrist. Esme seemed to sense her discomfort, but when she looked Bella full in the face, her flickering worry turned to fear.

"Carlisle!" Esme called, her voice rising in pitch and volume. "Carlisle come!" She turned swiftly back to Bella. "What has happened? Are you hurt? Darling, why are you _crying?!"_

For Bella was wiping angrily at her cheeks with her free hand, her face aflame with embarrassment.

"Take her inside," Bella heard Carlisle say. "Sit her down. I'll tie Kora in the pen, but I cannot tarry long."

"But what's _happened?"_ Esme whispered again, grabbing at Carlisle as he tried to pass her. Her free hand squeezed Bella's wrist. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?"

"Not in body," Carlisle answered for her. "But quickly, Esme. I must move on. Bring Bella inside." He disentangled his sleeve from her grip, and turned back towards the panting horses.

Esme wasted no more time. Taking Bella with a firm command that left no room for argument, she ushered her through the squeaky door of the cabin and installed her ceremoniously on the breakfast stool she'd abandoned just that morning. The remnants of their meal still littered the long, wooden table. Bella stared intently at a wayward crumb, watching as a bulbous, shiny beetle crept up through a crack in the wood to snatch it in its jaws.

"Sweetheart, here…" Esme pressed a cloth handkerchief into her fist. Bella brought it to her face, dabbing angrily at her eyes. "Drink this."

Tea, hot and strong, burned Bella's tongue when she brought the cup to her lips, but she gulped down three mouthfuls anyways, relishing the burn that made her eyes water. Esme stood before her, her hands clasped around the apron at her waist, before she, too, sat gingerly on a stool, at a loss for words.

"Thank you," Bella croaked, trying to clear her throat. Her nose was stuffed and blocked.

"It's no trouble, sweetheart…" Esme's hand rested on her knee. "What happened, darling? Are you hurt?"

"No." Bella shook her head. Esme looked suspiciously at her knees, which were dusty and tattered from her fall in the dirt.

"Your wrist…"

"It'll be fine." Bella flexed it carefully, grimacing when the pull sent a shock of pain down to her fingertips. "It's not broken."

Esme tutted, running her fingers carefully over the newly-knitted bone.

"Nothing out of place," she agreed carefully, "but I'd like to ask Carlisle to be sure…"

"He can't stay," Bella said again, and this time she heard the tears before they fell. "I think he has to go…"

"Go where?" Esme asked softly. "What has happened, Bella?"

Her mouth went dry.

"We found…" Stuttering like a fool, she felt her stomach begin to twist again. "There were…"

"What?"

Her eyes pinched shut, Bella saw the flash of red in her mind's eye. The child's t-shirt— the same t-shirt she'd sat beside for hours on that ill-fated flight from LAX…

Her stomach roiled and she leapt to her feet, startling Esme as she bounded, headlong, for the door.

"Bella!" Esme called fearfully after her, though Bella did not stop. Thanking all the Gods she knew, Bella made it out beyond the fence before the tea made its reappearance, her retching drowning out the sounds of Esme's footfalls.

"You're alright," Bella heard Carlisle say. As he had on the beach, Bella felt him lift the heavy braid of hair from her neck. A cool breeze washed over her. "You're alright, Bella, just take it easy…"

"What is going _on?"_ demanded Esme in a hiss. "Is she sick, Carlisle? When she fell…"

"No," he murmured. "No… it's got nothing to do with her fall from the horse. Come inside, both of you…"

But Bella shook her head.

"I can't," she said. Her insides were writhing. "I'm sorry, Carlisle…"

"Alright, sit down right here, then," he bargained. "There you go…" He lowered her onto a log of wood, precariously perched atop a mound of earth. "Sit there a while and gather your wits. When you're ready, come inside."

Bella rested her head between her knees, swallowing hard against the lingering threat of sickness. She wiped her nose on her sleeve— if she breathed too deeply, or held it too long, it was almost as if she could _smell_ them. She had never smelled anything like it before in her life. Such a sour, rancid smell... not even Uncle Charlie's hunting prizes or the coolers of fish he'd bring home after a fruitful lakeside weekend could compare.

She breathed noisily through her mouth to keep the memory at bay.

Angry with herself, she pressed her face into the linen skirt on her knee. Her legs were trembling— she could feel the shivering, vibrating quivers against the wet fabric on her cheek. Her stomach was still queasy, bubbling and popping as if a flock of butterflies were brushing their wings against her. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand.

"Get it together," she muttered angrily. The English sounded so foreign to her now. "Stop crying and get it _together…_ "

She sat for what felt like ages. Perched atop the log, she felt her feet begin to tingle and prick until they fell completely asleep. She heard nothing from the house. Slowly, as the sun crested overhead to mark noon, Bella felt her nerves begin to settle, and her back begin to ache.

Just as she began to wiggle her aching legs, a throat cleared behind her and nearly sent her tumbling down into the dirt.

"Excuse me," said a voice as Bella's head snapped up. She blinked into the sun, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes.

It was a man Bella had never seen before. Tall and lanky— almost _skinny—_ he stood behind the fence with his head bowed and his feet shuffling in the dirt. His dark hair was dusty and damp and his face— young, open, and sunbaked— looked nervous and uncertain. He watched her with eyes of deepest grey as he clutched a hat in both hands, wringing it anxiously, almost as if he were nervous.

Bella staggered to her feet.

"Oh, please…" The man reached out a large, dusty hand. "Please sit. Do not rise on my account."

Bella sniffled.

"I…"

"I am looking for Master Carlisle," the man said. "I come from the capital."

"He's inside," Bella croaked.

The man continued to watch her. Bella, feeling slow and stupid, felt the warmth rise in her cheeks.

"I'll show you in," she said finally, remembering common courtesy. She did not know what the protocol was for guests in Maronese homes, but if the man's unmoving stance outside the gate was any indication, he would not enter unless invited in.

The man waited while Bella fumbled with the latch, her fingers struggling to disentangle the thick rope from the worn, wooden peg. Her hands were trembling, and he only watched her struggle for a moment or two before he reached over, glancing carefully at her for permission, and undid it himself.

"Thank you, my Lady," he said graciously. He stepped inside the yard. "I am most grateful."

Bella simply blinked at him, clearing her throat.

"He's through here," she said quietly. "Just in the house…"

The sun was overhead now, beating and hot. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck as they walked.

How long had she been sitting in the garden?

He followed behind her, his hands still clenched on his hat, while she guided him to the door.

"Carlisle?" she called, pulling at the door. It swung open easily. "There's a man…"

"Benjamin," said Carlisle quickly. He was seated at the table, his head bent close to Esme's, but he had jumped up at Bella's soft call. The stranger, Benjamin, nodded his head.

"Carlisle," said Benjamin. "Esme."

"Come in, Benjamin," said Esme. She glanced surreptitiously at Bella, her efforts to hide her concern failing. "Sit, please…"

"As much as I wish I could, I cannot," said the man. "I am here for your husband, and I'm afraid our business is urgent."

"Will you take bread?" asked Esme, undeterred. "Wine, perhaps?"

The man smiled uneasily at her and shook his head.

"Sit then, Benjamin. You are among friends." Carlisle, shuffling restlessly at the table, pulled out a stool for the newcomer and waited until he had installed himself in his place before he, too, sat down again. Bella did not join them.

"I have come from the city," said Benjamin to Carlisle. "The Watchers from the tower sent your message on."

"What are we to do?" Carlisle asked grimly. Esme came to stand next to Bella, wrapping her strong arm about the girl's shoulders.

"Feeling better?" she whispered, so quiet that neither Carlisle nor Benjamin could hear.

Bella nodded softly.

"The birds are swift." Bella frowned in confusion. "The King has sent word that he is readying a party," said Benjamin. "His missive relayed that he would arrive at sunset. In the meantime, he asks that we bring the casualties here, to your cabin. The Council does not want to leave them so exposed on the shore, and most especially not at night. The Southern Watchtower has recorded a number of disturbances from the Western Shore, and the King would not risk enticing the enemy to strike."

Carlisle sighed, his lips pursed.

"Of course," he murmured. "How many in the party?"

"Twenty," said the man. "At least. With horses, oxen, and wagons."

Carlisle stood from his seat. "Will they arrive before the King?"

"As soon as possible," said the man. "He's sent his guard ahead to help with the cleanup. The wagons are slow-going, but all are moving through the jungle as we speak."

"Good. Very good…" Carlisle stood distractedly, brushing the last remaining breakfast crumbs to the floor. "Shall we?"

"Yes." Benjamin stood, knocking the stool back in his haste to rise. Bella saw his tawny cheeks flush as he righted it again, glancing nervously at Esme.

"I'll prepare supper," said Esme gently, paying no mind to the upturned furniture. "We will have all in order. With four hands at the helm, it'll be easy going, won't it darling?"

Bella felt Esme's hand squeezing hers, and she nodded reflexively.

"Yes," she agreed quickly. "Yes…"

Benjamin, awkward and gangly, bowed low to both Bella and Esme before he made his way to the door and slipped outside. Carlisle said nothing until he was sure the man was out of earshot, and then he whispered so low that Bella almost didn't hear him.

"I expect Edward will stay the night," he said. "We should prepare the back room."

"Yes," agreed Esme. "But leave that to me. You go, now, and show that poor boy what you've found. And please…"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You must tell me what I can do."

"You do much already," said Carlisle as he kissed her brow. "I do not relish having those poor, soulless creatures near our home, but alas, the King is right. Take care of our girl."

Bella's face went bright red when Carlisle turned to her, a sad and bemused smile on his face.

"And you would do well to rest," said Carlisle, speaking lowly to her. "I must return to the shore… no, just listen."

Bella had opened her mouth to protest.

"I must return to the shore," he repeated softly. "I must assess the remains and make sure that they are fit for transport. They will be in my care until the King decides what's to be done."

"What's to be done?" Bella repeated confusedly. "What do you mean?"

Carlisle sighed.

"This is a… singular event," he said slowly. "Nothing of this magnitude has happened in living memory… perhaps not ever."

Bella bit her lip. She had never asked what the Maronese did with their dead.

"We have… protocols for such things," continued Carlisle. "Rules to follow and processes to be upheld when the dead wash up on our shores. But these protocols might not apply in a situation such as this. Those people— those poor people— are not from here, and it will be up to the King to decide what is to be done with them. We've no idea of their customs, or their beliefs, or their Gods…"

Bella bit her lip.

"I see," she said. Carlisle glanced nervously out the window. "But…"

"I will answer all of your questions in due course, Bella," he said softly. "But right now, Benjamin is waiting on me. I must return to the shore. Stay here with Esme and rest a while. You've had a nasty shock today."

"Go," said Esme gently. "We will be just fine until the men arrive."

"If anything should happen…"

"I know." Esme kissed him. "I know. Now go… I can see Benjamin saddling the horses."

"I…" Bella bit her lip when Carlisle turned to her, questioning. "Just…"

He watched her, silent.

"Just… be careful," she said lamely. "If it's as dangerous as you say…"

"I will," he said. "I've promised my wife, and I'll promise you, too."

Feeling Esme's warm hand in her own, Bella returned to her silence, giving him a quick smile.

"Go now," Esme said. "Be swift and safe."

The pair of them listened to the sounds of preparation from the window as they watched Carlisle and Benjamin, a tandem team, preparing the horses. Bella watched as the horses were fed and watered, drinking deeply from the troughs of sweet, fresh water. They were saddled— Carlisle's dark stallion and Benjamin's palomino that looked like a bulkier version of her own Kora. They tied saddle bags to their pommels— Carlisle's full to bursting with fruits, water, and hard bread for the road— and when he stopped, patting his horse gently on the nose, Bella knew it was time for him to go.

They watched, tight-lipped and anxious, as both men mounted their steeds. The sound of hooves on the hard, packed ground was loud, and the dust they kicked up wafted lazily through the glassless kitchen window as they disappeared into the trail lined with tight-packed trees. Bella listened until the sounds died away and she continued to watch until the dust had settled again, and there was nothing more to see but the rippling of the leaves, the glow of the sun through the thick, fluffy clouds, and the humdrum of bees and butterflies, buzzing to and fro from plant to flower in Esme's abundant garden.

"Sit, Bella," said Esme suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. Bella stepped away from the window. "You look peckish."

"I couldn't eat if my life depended on it," said Bella with a humourless chuckle. "I'm the furthest thing from hungry."

"Some water, then," Esme said. Before Bella could answer, she'd poured a generous mugful of fresh water from the ewer on the mantle and slipped it into Bella's fingers. Bella brought the cup to her lips, begging her tossing stomach to obey, and sipped it carefully, watching as Esme moved restlessly from one edge of the table to the other.

When she sat, it was with the disturbed air of a woman unsettled, and Bella could see in her eyes that she had something to say.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I worry for you, is all," Esme sighed. "You can't seem to catch a break."

Bella barked a laugh.

"I've never led a particularly exciting life," she admitted. "But since I've been here, there's been an endless stream of excitement."

"This should be an easy time for you," said Esme. "One for healing and learning, not grieving."

Bella bit her lip.

"Carlisle told me what you found."

Bella nodded sagely.

"I cannot imagine…" she began. "I couldn't even _begin_ to fathom…"

Bella gulped her water.

"I'm sorry you had to see," she said finally. Bella didn't realize her fingers were tapping the table until she felt Esme stay them, squeezing lightly. "I know you went to the shore hoping for peace and calm, but…"

Bella's stomach twisted again.

"What did Benjamin mean, when he spoke of the birds?" she interrupted. Esme blinked confusedly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"He said _the birds are swift,"_ she clarified. "What did he mean by that?"

She did not want to linger on the image of those corpses any longer than she had to.

"Oh." Esme shook her head, as if to clear it. "That is how the towers communicate."

"Which towers?"

"The Watchtowers," said Esme. "Each one— minus the Western one, of course— uses the birds to carry messages."

Bella, suddenly seized by an urge to laugh, had a vision of a carrier pigeon, flying through the air with a scroll in its claws.

"I understand it might sound strange," chuckled Esme, seeing Bella's sudden humour. "But I don't know what we would do without them."

"They… carry letters?" she asked.

"Not quite letters," explained Esme. "The birds are bred in five main places on the island— each of the three Watchtowers, the King's Castle, and out back in our garden shed."

Bella smiled, surprised.

"They are born and raised in a particular place, and they come to know that place as home," she explained. "They are uncannily smart when it comes to finding home…"

"We used to have…" Bella began. She did not know the Maronese word, so she she spoke in English. " _Pigeons,_ we call them. They were messenger birds too."

"Indeed?" Esme cocked her head. "Ours are green parrots— perhaps you've seen them roosting?"

Bella shook her head.

"Well… they are smart creatures. They are bred in each of the five nests, and they know their homes well. Once they are weaned, grown, and trained, they are carried off to other stations around the island. Carlisle and I lodge birds from the Capital, mainly. We do not need to send messages to many others."

Bella paid close attention.

"The birds know home," Esme said again. "If they are raised here, they will always return here. So when we send our new birds to Edward, all he needs to do is affix the message to the bird's leg, and it will find its way into the coop. Benjamin, who lives just outside the city walls, is a minor herbalist, and he's raised his own bird for his personal use. He is a trusted advisor of the King, and so he received the message from Edward, which undoubtedly asked him to relay it to us. He set out straight for our home once he had it in hand. Edward does not like to use the birds— he worries about interception— and so it has become his way to send his messages via a human messenger instead."

Bella finished the last of her water, swallowing thickly.

"If you'd like me to show them to you, I'd be happy to," said Esme. "They are quite friendly… but before we can, we've got business to attend to."

Bella stood at once.

"Tell me what to do," she said at once. Esme watched her nervously. "I'll be of help to you, Esme, I promise."

 _Anything to take her mind away from those bodies on the beach._

* * *

Bella thought her skin might melt off.

Seated before the hearth, a great, wooden spoon clenched in her sweaty fist, Bella leaned over the great, hanging pot and stirred, pulling the blackened iron hook further from the flames. The stew was bubbling madly in the pot, spitting great globs of hissing broth onto the blackened stone above the flames. Esme had warned her not to let it get too hot— _too hot and it'll stick,_ she'd warned— but here she was, spoon in hand, watching helplessly as it did the very thing Esme had warned her it would.

Using the thick, dry cloth that had fallen to the floor, Bella wrapped the red-hot iron hook to protect her hands from the heat and pulled, hard, to lug the great, sloshing pot away.

Out of reach of the flames, it immediately returned to a merry, bubbling simmer.

"It takes practice," chuckled Esme, making Bella jump. Swinging around, Bella came face-to-face with her where she leaned against the long trestle table, her eyes dancing with amused chagrin. Bella fought the urge to laugh herself— how ridiculous was it, really? A grown woman unable to do so much as stir a pot of stew?

"Where I come from," Bella said, stirring gently again, "the heat is more controlled."

Esme cocked her head, curious.

"We've got… _stoves."_ The word made Esme grin again. "They're… _electric."_

Esme hummed. Taking the long, wooden spoon from Bella's clenched fingers, she stirred the stew herself, nodding approvingly when she dragged it along the smooth bottom.

"Not burned," she said soothingly. "If you dampen the flame some, it'll go easier."

Bella glanced down at the raging fire, her eyes flickering to the pot of sand that rested by the hearth's edge. She had eyed it more than once since she'd started cooking, but had yet to muster enough courage to try it.

"I don't want it to go out," she said quietly. "If it does…"

Esme laughed again.

"Carlisle is a worrier," said Esme. Just that morning, before they'd set off for the shore, Bella had listened to Carlisle's whispered concerns to Esme about the fire. It was low, he'd said. If it died, it would be a great hassle to relight it. How would they cook? What would keep them warm? What if there were no more hot coals in the outdoor firepit to give them a spark?

"We've got lanterns a-plenty, Bella, and all of them lit. And if all else fails, the brush outside is dry enough to catch, should we need to use the flint. And besides… a little sand will not extinguish _that."_

Bella glanced at the billowing flames again, which were licking the stone sides of the firepit. Esme, sensing her discomfort, reached over herself and poured three cupfuls of dry, white sand onto the blistering flames. They were tempered at once, and Bella felt the intense heat decrease immediately.

The flames dampened and the pot returned to its rightful place on the heat, Bella stood, stretching. She grimaced when she felt her spine pop, her neck cracking as she pulled it from side to side, trying to loosen the stiff muscles.

"You should rest," said Esme ruefully, her face once again a mask of concern. "Carlisle told you you should, and here I am having you slave over a hot pot…"

"I'm fine," Bella said softly. "I don't want to rest."

"No," agreed Esme, "but sometimes what we want is not what we need. Besides… I found something for you while I was airing the store room."

While Bella had been cooking, Esme had been busy in the rear of the house, shelving the potted plants that had been left out to lay in the sun. The house only had two usable bedrooms— one for Carlisle and Esme and one spare, though that spare had recently become Bella's own. The other rooms— the ones in the attic space above the kitchen and storeroom— were musty and dank, and in dire need of cleaning.

But the King was coming to stay, and so another bed had to be made up.

"Found what?" Bella asked curiously. Stepping away from the fire altogether was a great relief, and she wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt.

"Books," Esme said carefully. Bella did not miss the surreptitious glance she threw towards the empty yard. "The… _old_ books," she clarified.

Bella, with a sudden jolt of curiosity, walked a little faster behind Esme.

"Edward will not mind," promised Esme, fiddling with the latch on the storeroom door. "His father might have…" The door seemed to stick. "But he will not. He is a patron of the arts."

"Why are they so…" Bella struggled for the word. "Problematic?"

Esme sighed.

"You must understand, Bella… after the Elders passed, the only way we knew was our own."

Bella frowned. Esme pushed the door open.

"So many of our people mistrust and dislike that which they do not understand," she said. "And no one— not even the King himself— knows what these books say anymore. Though he could not read them, these texts meant a lot to Carlisle's father, and it was only my status as the Queen's sister that kept them safe from the Old King's Purge."

"His what?" Bella asked.

Esme sighed.

"His Purge," she said again, and though she did not know why, Bella envisioned this word with a capital _P._ "Edward's grandfather was a very suspicious man, Bella. He lived in terror of an attack from the West. He tolerated the Elders— their wisdom placed them beyond the reach of anxious Kings— but once they died, their knowledge died with them."

Bella chewed her cuticle, listening carefully.

"Their knowledge was contained in books," said Esme gently. "I don't know how much you know, but there are legends…"

"Legends?"

"Legends of… visitors," Esme said. "Strange men, from long ago…"

Bella frowned.

"They brought books," said Esme. "Generations ago. Beyond anyone's living memory, and so long removed that they've passed beyond of the realm of truth. They've become myth, and we cannot be sure they existed at all… the only proof we have of them are these books."

Bella watched, silent and attentive, as Esme moved towards an old wooden trunk Bella had noticed, but never minded. It was locked— Bella's surprise mounted even higher when she saw the old, rusted padlock— and when Esme produced a large, ornate key, Bella sat up a little straighter.

"Carlisle's father kept them," said Esme. "Risked life and limb for them too…"

"How so?" asked Bella quietly.

"When the Elders died," said Esme, fiddling with the lock, "the Westerners burned the cave."

"What cave?"

"Their home," explained Esme. "It was called Stonehearth."

Bella chewed her lip.

"They burned the cave, and with it, most of their writings. Those men were learned and wise, Bella. They had stores of knowledge that the rest of us could only ever dream of…"

She lifted the lid of the trunk and Bella craned her neck to see.

"These are old," she said. "Old, and worn, and delicate…" She lifted a massive, hardcover tome from the dusty depths. "Carlisle mentioned them before, and we both wonder…"

She rested the book on the sideboard, and Bella's eyes fixed immediately on the dusty cover. It looked ancient— so ancient, in fact, that Bella wondered whether Esme should even dare to touch it— but when Esme peeled back the ornate, leather-bound cover, only the cracking of the spine gave any warning.

"Wonder what?" Bella asked softly. She stepped closer to the book. She had always been a reader— had always loved the smell of the paper, like an old, friendly library— and though she was thousands of miles from any of her old, familiar haunts, the smell was so much like home.

"Wonder whether you might understand it," said Esme quietly. She watched Bella with an unspeakable curiosity in her eye— so deep and sudden that Bella had to look away, awkward. When Esme stepped aside— a small movement that gave her a clearer look at the looping words inscribed on the page— Bella felt a jolt of recognition.

 _In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep…_

Stepping closer, she scanned down the page in wonder.

"The letters are ours," said Esme quietly. "Carlisle has spent much time with this particular volume… he can decode it, but neither of us can understand it."

Bella bit her lip.

 _And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night…_

Esme's hand on the page and her tremulous, startled laughter, gave Bella pause.

She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud.

"I thought you might know it," Esme whispered softly. Bella peeled her eyes away from the page. "Such a mystery…"

Esme's fingers, cool and soft, trailed over Bella's cheeks, her touch as light as a gossamer thread. The tickle made her shiver. The kindling hope in her heart had been lit— she _knew_ those words, even if they were not dear to her as they might have been to others, and though Esme, and Carlisle, and the whole Island itself might think these words a blasphemous mystery, Bella thought she knew better.

Bella was a learned woman. She had always been studious and constant, and she knew, more than others might expect, some of the history that might explain this book's appearance. She knew about the missionaries— the ships of holy men setting out for lands unknown, to convert those people without the Good Book, the word of the so-called _true God…_

Flipping to the front of the book, Bella squinted down at the looping, ornate script, a bounding excitement swelling in her belly at the sight of the inscription.

 _The Holy Bible,  
_ _Conteyning the Old Testament,  
_ _And the New_

 _Newly Translated out of the Originall  
_ _tongues & with the former Translations  
_ _diligently compared and reunited by his  
_ _Majesties speciall Comandement_

 _Appointed to be read in Churches_

 _Imprinted at London by Robert  
_ _Barker, Printer to the Kings  
_ _Most Excellent Majestie._

 _ANNO DOM. 1611_

 _Anno Domini 1611. The Year of Our Lord 1611…_

406 years ago.

"I do know it," Bella said, her words unnecessary. "We all know it…"

Esme closed the book carefully, a plume of fine dust rising to the ceiling. With careful hands, steady and sure, she brought it carefully to her chest before she handed it over to Bella, whose eyes widened.

"Oh no, Esme…" she protested, though she could not refuse when Esme pressed the book into her hands. "I couldn't…"

"You can, and you should," she said. "It does us no good here, serving no one. If it can bring you some comfort, let it."

Bella bit her lip.

"Carlisle wants you to relax," she said, her voice low. "Take that book and go and sit in the sun. It'll be dark soon, and with the darkness will come the men. Then I will need your help. But until then…"

Bella eyed the yard— so bright, and green, and vibrant— and felt the allure of honeysuckle and plumeria drawing her out.

"Go," said Esme again. "Read, and learn, and relax. Perhaps, when you come in, you can tell me all about it."

Bella did not miss the curious way she glanced at the book, as if it held a great secret that was only just ready to be discovered.

"Thank you, Esme," said Bella quietly. "This is…"

"It is nothing," said Esme. "Nothing at all. A trinket to me, and a bauble to Carlisle… but if it can be more to you, then I'm all the happier for it."

 _But it was not nothing,_ Bella thought. Walking out to the garden, passing the stump where she'd sat this morning, overcome by grief and despair, Bella clutched the book to her heart. _It was not nothing…_ this was the furthest thing from nothing she'd been given in living memory, and she clung to it with a newfound peace, her eyes devouring the familiar words written in a tongue she hadn't even realized she'd been missing.

* * *

She devoured the book until the sunlight failed her, and she was left squinting through the darkness beneath a bruised, purple sky. She cursed at the heavens, her voice low and growling as she watched the last rays of orange fading to magenta, before a big, bulbous cloud rolled lazily over the place where the pink touched the trees, and she could see no more.

The glow from the house was too far, to dim, to light the pages for her.

"Bella?" Esme's voice rang from the house, as soft and sweet as a chickadee. Bella popped her head up over the wild, untrimmed plant beneath which she rested. She could see Esme at the window, her face shining and alight from the glow of the hearthfire, and when she caught sight of Bella, tousled and bright-eyed in the garden, she gave an indulgent smile.

"The men will arrive soon," she said gently. "And the King too…"

Bella stretched, dusting her skirt to be rid of the debris of leaves and soil. Her legs were damp. Getting carefully to her feet, Bella tucked the volume beneath her arm and sighed, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs.

Bella had never been a religious person. Neither her mother, who Bella suspected had embraced every religion known to man at some point or another, nor her Uncle Charlie, whose idea of a good, Christian Sunday involved nothing more than a beachfront fish fry and some Vitamin R, were either. Bella had never read the Good Book, nor had she ever felt the urge to try, but there was something about what she had done today— sitting alone, with no one but the frogs for company, reading the words with the voracity and dedication of a monk— that gave her a new outlook on things.

Never— not once since she had arrived here— had she felt so connected, so hopefully close, to the life she'd left behind.

When she entered the house, taking care to wipe her shoes on the mat by the door, she blinked in surprise at the spread Esme had set out. Piles of dishes— wooden bowls, plates, cups, and spoons— sat ready on the trestle table. The stew Bella had started— meat and root vegetables melded together in a salty, aromatic sauce— bubbled merrily on the fire. Bella could see the cubes of meat, pink when she'd left, now turned dark, rich brown. There was pale, yellow wine in corked bottles, resting in the window ledge to cool. Grapes, plucked from the nearby vineyard, heaped on platters of dark stone. Flatbread, some of which still cooked in the fire, flooded the room with a homey, yeasty smell that made Bella's mouth water. Apples and oranges, papaya and tomato, all ripe and sliced, ready for the picking.

"You could have called me," Bella said sheepishly. She placed the book on the upper shelf along the side wall, well out of sight and reach of any visitors. "I would've helped."

"It was no trouble," said Esme. "You were very intent."

Bella bit her lip, not daring to tell Esme just how _intent_ she had really become. She felt sated— as if a thirst she had not known was plaguing her was finally quenched— and she could breathe a little easier now, as if something in those pages had soothed a wound she had not known she had.

"But come now," said Esme, straightening at once. Bella felt her own spine stiffen in response, and when Esme paused to listen, Bella did too.

Hoofbeats. Cantering, galloping, rushing hoofbeats, coming up from the southern gate of Esme's yard.

"They're here," said Esme somberly, and Bella, her interest piqued, glanced carefully out the window. She could not see anyone coming— could not make out any shapes of men or horses, but there was a strange glow, orange and bright, flickering between branches down the path through the jungle.

"South?" Bella asked, her voice tight as her nerves rose. "Shouldn't they be north?"

"No," Esme shook her head. "Edward will have gone to the Tower first, the beach second. Else he would have arrived just after noon, I expect…"

Bella, biting her lip, watched as the glowing fire grew brighter.

"There are many," Esme mused, her trained ears more astute than Bella's. "Can you hear them, darling?"

"I hear something," Bella admitted, "though I'd have no idea how to begin counting how many there might be."

Esme chuckled.

"Neither have I," she said. "That requires a soldier's training, which I do not have…"

The hoofbeats grew louder.

"Come," she said finally, reaching for the latch on the door. "We should be there to greet them…"

The evening had grown dark. Bella, though she had only left the garden sanctuary not twenty minutes prior, found herself squinting into the blackness when Esme opened the door. This was something she had not yet grown accustomed to— back in Seattle, where the world was bright and alive, there was hardly any place at all where a body could go to be out of the hustle and bustle of city life. In the parks, where nature reigned supreme, one was constantly reminded of the concrete metropolis through warning signs, bylaw postings, and orderly, paved bicycle paths. Chirping crickets and chirruping frogs were drowned by the roar and rumble of countless cars and busses. Camera shutters clicked on nature hikes. Cell phones rang incessantly on the sidewalks. Buildings glowed, billboards flashed, and people, both old and young, were always on the move, never stopping for so much as a glance skyward, where, had they been lucky, they might have caught a glimpse of a lonely, flickering star.

But here, on this island paradise, there were no electric lights to dim the stars, no buzzing hum of electricity through the very walls of the buildings, and no rushing of vehicles do drown the sounds of the wild.

Bella squinted, and when the first torch flickered and flared into the clearing, she had to blink away the spots.

Soldiers— tall, strong, and all identical in their red and yellow standard— came filing out of the trees one-by-one. Bella watched them with mild apprehension— were these men always so tall, perched atop their great beasts? They were quiet and orderly as they filed in— only one voice, a loud, booming bass that Bella recognized, spoke in the hush.

"Move up, men!" it called. "Let the wagons through!"

And at once, Bella wondered how she'd missed the sound— the rumbling of rough-cut wheels on packed dirt seemed to echo through the quiet evening, rolling through the air like thunder through the sky. As it grew louder and louder, it consumed her. Watching, her face tight with apprehension, she saw the horses shuffle, the men dismount, and slowly, like a funeral procession, a line of four wagons, lit by fiery torches in the dimming twilight. Each one was full, laden with heavy burdens wrapped in thick, white sheets.

The colour drained from her face as if a plug had been pulled. Esme, watching her with consternation, squeezed her hand in sympathy as the procession came to a halt, and the last, lonely rider made his way around the oxen-pulled chariots.

Bella recognized the black stallion at once.

"At ease, men." He spoke so softly that Bella almost missed the words. The commander, whose great, booming bass Bella had recognized, took off his helmet, and Bella watched as he took the King's reins when the latter dismounted. Emmett took both beasts— jet black and chestnut— to the trough of water Carlisle had set out for Kora earlier in the day.

Bella stared steadfastly at the King as he walked up to the gate, shadowed closely by a pale and somber Carlisle, who held it open to let him inside.

"Aunt Esme," said the King, and Bella stepped aside when he embraced her. Esme squeezed him fiercely, the pucker between her brows deepening when she took in the pallor of his face, and the troubled lines that ran from the corners of his eyes.

"You must be hungry," she said softly. Bella didn't miss the way her eyes flickered to the bodies, piled high on wagons. "You've had a long, tiresome day…"

"The men first, Esme," he said. "And yourself. You ladies have cooked a feast, I see."

Bella watched him, then— _really_ watched him— and saw how he tried to smile at her. She saw his kindness there, the same kindness he'd shown her back at the castle, but this time there was a strange, unfamiliar tension in his gaze. His jaw was tight— Bella could see, even in the feeble light of the kitchen fire, how he clenched it. His eyes were dark— some of that bright, vibrant green she'd come to know had faded, leaving behind a murky pool so deep that she wondered whether he'd drown in it. Perhaps he already _was_ drowning. He'd seen things today, the same things Bella herself had seen…

" _You_ first, Edward," said Esme. Her voice was low, but cross. "It's alright to put yourself first, sometimes…"

He spoke over her, and Bella saw her shoulders sag.

"Men!" he called. Bella watched the troupe— at least 20 strong— stand tall. "Come and join in the feast my aunt has made."

The crowd began to bustle.

"Edward…" Esme gripped his arm as he tried to turn. Though he did not pull away from her, he did turn his head to face her, and Bella saw how sadly he eyed her.

"Let me go, please," he said, too quiet for anyone but them to hear. The men were too far away. "My men are hungry…"

Esme, gritting her teeth, let him go, and when he turned to speak to her again, Bella felt Esme's hand on her back.

"Come, Bella," she said. "We must go in."

And without another word to nephew or husband, Esme urged her through the open kitchen door.

"Stubborn boy," she growled, reaching over to the trestle table to take a stack of bowls. "Headstrong, unruly man…"

Bella bit her lip.

"Should I…?" she gestured carefully at the wine. "I don't know where I should be."

"Yes." Esme shook her head. "Yes, of course, Bella… you pour the wine. There is an extra crate beneath the table, should you run low. The vineyard was fruitful this past winter…"

Bella glanced down by her feet, where a rough wooden crate of tall, glass bottles rested, each coated in a thin layer of dust.

"If they want water, there is a pump in the yard," Esme said. "They should know, but they may ask you for permission."

Bella frowned, and Esme, catching it, sighed.

"It is our way, Bella," she said gently. "We do not enter homes, nor do we take bread or water, unless we've been invited to do so."

"I understand…"

The door opened, and Bella watched as Carlisle led the line of men into the kitchen.

Like a well-oiled machine, the long line of soldiers moved from station to station with the utmost courtesy. Bella had never seen a crowd of men— especially not hungry, hot, and thirsty men— so orderly, so disciplined. Each man washed his hands— for none were clean— with a pail of water set out by the kitchen door. They waited at Esme's station until they were handed a heaping bowl of stew, and each took no more than two of Esme's delectable flatbreads. When they came to Bella, each gave her a small, polite, and reverent bow— one that had her cheeks permanently stained pink— and accepted the cup of cool, sweet wine she offered with great thanks. They had built a fire outside, at which Bella could see the King hunched low over bent knees, and Bella watched as each soldier carved out a piece of yard for himself, settling in with friends and comrades, laughing over the crackling flames and rumble of conversation.

The last of the soldiers came through quickly, followed by Carlisle, who took up the rear. Bella handed him a cupful of wine with almost absent care, and he stopped, his eyes raking over her as if he were searching her. What he found there, Bella never knew, but before he could open his mouth to ask after her, she cleared her throat.

"Will he eat?" she asked, jerking her chin towards the solitary, brooding silhouette on the lawn. "He hasn't moved since he sat down."

Carlisle sighed.

"He is troubled," said Carlisle. "There is trouble on the Western front, and with these poor souls to care for…"

Bella would not look at the wagons again, though Carlisle's gaze slipped over them.

"He will not starve, Bella." Carlisle patted her hair. "Do not worry after him. He's old enough to know his own mind."

Esme, scowling fiercely, gave an angry sniff before she placed a bowl of stew before Bella, and disappeared down the hall. Carlisle sighed, his eyes closed.

"She worries about him, though she knows she shouldn't," said Carlisle softly. "He's not a boy anymore…"

The bedroom door clicked shut and Bella winced, knowing she had heard him.

"Eat," sighed Carlisle after a long moment of quiet. "You're still healing."

He nudged the aromatic bowl towards her, and Bella, though nothing in her felt hungry, took a careful bite of steaming potato.

Esme really was a delicious cook.

"The men will leave the dishes by the door," said Carlisle gently. "They will camp outside tonight, in the tents they carry. Do not be bothered by them, Bella. You will be quite safe tonight."

"I know," said Bella honestly. She listened to the low rumble of voices from outside. None of it— not even the noisy, raucous chatter from a particular group in the far corner— made her nervous.

"The King's soldiers are disciplined, and well-trained," said Carlisle. "We've attracted some attention today, I won't deny that…"

"Attention?" Bella sat up straighter. Carlisle sighed.

"The Westerners grow anxious," said Carlisle. "As we loaded the bodies onto the wagons, we could see them watching from the cliffs. They think they're stealthy…"

Bella, in her mind's eye, could almost see it. She'd seen the cliffs herself just that morning, though she'd paid them little mind. A great grey wall, higher than most of the skyscrapers in all of Seattle, rising tall and proud from the ocean waves. Miles of rock, jagged and peaked, like a mountain cut in two…

And faces, peeking out like cowards, watching the gathering as if it were a three-ring circus.

"Edward knows they won't wait long," Carlisle said ominously.

"What does that mean?"

"It's been almost six months since the last attack," said Carlisle. "In all the time Edward's been in power, the longest we've gone is two."

"Maybe they're weakening?"

"Doubtful." Carlisle took a mouthful of stew. "They've got substantial numbers, though they cannot touch Edward's army for strength."

Bella bit her lip.

"No… they're waiting for something. Edward knows it, I know it, and I suspect everyone in the capital knows it too, though they're staying rather quiet."

Bella's heart fluttered anxiously in her chest.

"But what it is, we _cannot_ know. We may _never_ know, until the time comes."

Bella blew out a breath.

"Well…" She stirred her stew, and the steam began to dissipate. "He should still eat."

And without waiting for another word from the healer, Bella snatched the last clean bowl from the trestle table, filled it with food from the bubbling, steaming pot, and, with her own dinner in her other hand, maneuvered her way out into the cool, dark yard.

Though the night was quickly changing from indigo to black, Bella could see clear across the yard in the orange glow from the massive, towering bonfire. She did not know how they had kindled it so quickly. It raged, a massive inferno contained by a circle of large, deep black stones. Flames licked the logs, the blaze working its way through dried bracken and carefully piled leaves, their edges curling and crumbling to ash. The fire mesmerized her. She had always possessed a healthy fear of it— she had seen, with her own eyes, how it could eat its way through a home in minutes— but the way it flickered and flared… it transfixed her. Only when she heard a sigh up ahead, so quiet she almost missed it, was the spell finally broken.

With the distance between them almost closed and in the bright glow from the flames, his face was easy to make out in the dark. He had not yet noticed her— even if he looked, she suspected she would be nothing more than a vague silhouette, for the fire would make her invisible to him. Bella watched him, more apprehensive than she had a right to be, as he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging until the wayward strands became even more unruly. He stared into the fire. The eyes that had looked so dark in the house were as green as summer grass in this strange light, and though she was glad to see the colour had returned, there was something beyond that bright, open countenance that belied his worry.

When she cleared her throat, he jumped.

"I brought you food," Bella said quietly. The bowl in her hand, warm and heavy, kept her still. "You must be hungry."

Blinking fiercely, almost as if she had broken him from a trance, Bella watched his eyes flicker from her face down to her outstretched hand, to the steam that rose from the bowl to float away in twisting, turning curls.

"Thank you," he said, and he rose in one, fluid motion to stand before her. Bella glanced up curiously as he rose— he dwarfed her, as tall as he was, but despite this clear size advantage he held over her, he took the bowl with careful, gentle hands.

"Esme is a wonderful cook," he remarked quietly, returning to his seat. Bella did not know where it had come from, but the log was long, and smooth, and warm. "Please… sit."

He shuffled carefully to the side, giving her enough space to perch beside him. She was close enough to feel his warmth through her sleeve, but still far enough to keep from touching him.

"You should eat," Bella said gently. "I don't know what you eat on the road, but…"

He chuckled— a low, humourless sound— and Bella's cheeks flushed.

" _Curtak,"_ he replied, and Bella frowned. She took a bite of her own stew— it had cooled to the point of edibility— and chewed carefully before she swallowed it down.

He watched her, amused by her sudden silence, and reached down to a satchel at his feet. She watched him rifling through it, displacing his water pouch, a bunch of thick, hard carrots for his horse, and a soft length of grey fur, before he pulled out a lump of hardened bread, pressing it generously into her hand.

She brought it into the light and turned it over, tapping the solid crust with the back of her fingernail.

" _Curtak,"_ he repeated. "It's a bread. Very hard, and very hardy… and unless you want a broken tooth, you must dip it in water."

 _Hardtack,_ Bella thought. She handed the piece back to him. _Just like in olden times…_

"We've got something similar," she replied, taking another bite of stew. "Where I come from."

"I'm sure."

He fell silent then, taking large mouthfuls of stew that disappeared with startling swiftness. Esme had been right. He _was_ hungry, and Bella could not understand why he would refuse to eat.

When his bowl and cup were empty, resting comfortably on the hard, packed earth, Bella turned back to him, her brows furrowed.

"Esme will be pleased," she said quietly.

"Esme worries too much for my sake," sighed the King. "I was perfectly content to rest here a while, and let the fire run its course. You don't know how rare this kind of solitude is, when every man, woman, and child in the Kingdom demands your time."

Bella shifted, suddenly awkward.

"I can go," she said quickly, rising to her feet. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

But before she could take a step, she felt his hand on her. Large, hot, and unfamiliar, she felt his fingers close around the delicate bones of her wrist, gently pulling her back towards the fire.

"Please," he said, and Bella fell silent again. "Please, stay. I'm sorry… I don't mean to be rude."

Bella sat again, and as if he had only just realized what he'd done, the King relinquished her at once, his hand balling into a tight fist.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It's quite presumptive of me to even assume…"

But Bella shook her head.

"I like the fire," she said gently. "It's… soothing. And I don't mind sitting with you, if you'll have me."

"Are you well?" asked the King. "Carlisle told me some of what happened…"

"I suppose I am," Bella said slowly. "As well as I can be, at any rate."

He studied her, his lips pulled tight.

"I'm sorry for what you saw," he said softly. "For what's happened today."

"It's not your fault," Bella said. Swallowing thickly, she forced back the painful lump that was threatening to rise. "You've done nothing wrong."

"No," he agreed. "Nor could I have prevented it, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry."

Bella sighed.

"Thank you."

"I've wanted to talk to you all day," said the King quietly, and Bella glanced up, confused. He was watching her still, in that strange, inscrutable way of his, and though she felt a distinct pang of embarrassment at being watched so closely, she could not break her gaze. He watched her like he was waiting for something, for some unspoken secret to come tumbling from her lips, or for some great revelation to make itself known to the both of them. Bella felt naked under that gaze, as if he could somehow know her innermost secrets just by _looking,_ but she stared just as intently back at him and wondered if he felt the same.

"Why?" she asked finally, and he looked away from her then, a light, almost imperceptible pink flush creeping up his neck.

He bit his lip, looking more like a boy than a man, and when he finally spoke, it was not the words she had been expecting.

"To ask what we should do," he said, and Bella fought to catch up.

"What we should… do?" she repeated stupidly. The man let out a sigh. "What do you mean? You are the King. Shouldn't you decide what to do?"

He laughed at this— a real, loud laugh that made her jump and the men in the yard go quiet. He stifled it with the back of his hand, turning away from her as the senseless mirth died away as quickly as it had come.

"I've been simply Edward longer than I've been King of anything," he said, and Bella waited, patient. "But you're right. A King _should_ know what to do. A good King _would_ know, yet here we are, with an abundance of questions and almost no answers."

His bitterness stung her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You _are_ a good King," she said quietly, and his head snapped down to her. "You're kind, and reasonable, and generous…"

"Sometimes," he conceded. "But just as often I'm ungracious, cantankerous, naive, foolish… _young,"_ he finished lamely. "Too young, and too green."

Bella did not know what to say.

"So here I am, King of everything and nothing, asking you, a girl of neither rank nor position, what I should do."

The words should have stung. They should have bitten deep, sinking like teeth to the bone, but as they washed over her, low and frustrated, Bella felt nothing but pity.

"Gods above," sighed the King, shaking his head. "I'm sorry again, My Lady. I don't know where my head is."

But Bella did. Despite herself— despite every promise she'd made to the contrary— her eyes travelled across the ground, beyond the flames rising ever higher into the sky, and towards the quartet of grounded, covered wagons carrying the ocean's dead. She knew _exactly_ where his head was, and what a place it must be. Bella had only seen them— their bloated faces, staring eyes, and gaping mouths— for a short while. She'd even touched one— that mystery woman she'd never even spoken to, whose face had been obliterated beyond all reasonable recognition, and it had made her sick. She had fled, run like a spectre in the night, and fallen to pieces in those long, hateful minutes until her work had made her whole again.

But she knew, just by the look on his face, that he'd seen them too. He'd touched them, just as she had, and she suspected he'd felt and seen more than her. He was the King— the leader of the people and the ruler of the land, and no matter how unsavoury the business was, no matter his feelings of sadness or revulsion, it was his duty to do right by those countless dead, whose bodies now lay not twenty feet from them.

"You know that you don't have to call me _My Lady,_ right?" Bella blurted out, and the sudden change in tone made him blink. "It's a little strange…"

"Wel…" He seemed amused. "What should I call you, then? For you _are_ a Lady, as much as I am a King."

It was her turn to blush.

"Just Bella is fine," she murmured softly. The King said nothing. "That's what everyone calls me. Even Carlisle does, though it took him longer than Esme."

"Bella," said the King, testing the name. "It suits."

Flushing, she bit her lip.

"I'll make you a deal," said the King, leaning away from the flames. His face was shadowed now. "I'll call you by your given name, if you call me by mine."

Bella laughed.

"Is that even allowed?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted wryly. "But if anyone has the right to make that decision, I would think it would be me. You've never called my brother by his title, and no one's complained yet."

"How is Jasper?" asked Bella softly. "Is he still angry with me?"

Edward sighed.

"He's always angry with something," he muttered. "He's gotten over you, I think. He knows you're still here, which soothes him. At the moment, he's angry with me because I would not bring him with me."

"With you where?"

The King— Edward— snorted.

"To collect bodies from the Southern Shore," he said dryly. "As if that's any place for a child. It's hardly a place for a grown man, and yet here we are…"

"He's lonely," Bella guessed sadly. Something in her heart ached for that child— so volatile and angry, but with eyes brimming with such pure and deep affection.

"Yes, I suspect he is," sighed Edward. "He's been lonely and angry for a long while, I think. It is not easy for a young boy to bear the burden of loss as he's been forced to do."

Bella felt a weight settle in her chest— a weight she had not felt for many, many years. She knew the burden of loss all too well, knew how quickly it could drag you down into the briny depths of despair, refusing to let go even as you drowned in it, swallowing more water than you could handle.

"He'll heal," said Bella wisely. "With time."

"But with what scars?" asked Edward softly. "He's already wounded, and he hates me more and more each day."

"He'll heal," she said again, "and he'll grow. Children always do, you know…"

He smiled, though only slightly, at her lame attempt at humor.

"But we have not answered the real question," Edward said, his eyes flickering back to the wagons. "And no matter how it pains me to do it, I must ask you again."

 _What should we do?_

"I… don't know," Bella sighed. "I don't know what your customs are, or what happens to those who've…"

But Edward cut her off, shaking his head in the gloom.

"That is exactly why I must ask," he said softly, turning around in his seat to face her fully. "Your customs are not our customs, and it would be a disservice to those poor souls to have their final rest tainted by the stain of well-intentioned, but ill-advised ceremony."

"They are not my people either, Edward," said Bella, a quiet understanding dawning on her. _She did not know these people._ "I don't know them, or which Gods they worshipped, if any…"

"Yes, but your Gods are different than ours in every way," Edward continued. "It would not do to give them our farewell, though I will if that's what's required…"

"They're dead," Bella frowned. "It won't matter much to them what they're given…"

"But are they gone?" mused Edward, glancing once again at the clear, starry sky. "Is anyone ever _really_ gone?"

Bella did not answer.

"They deserve peace, Bella," he said. "They _all_ deserve peace, and though I am King, and Leader, and _Father of the People,_ " he snorted at this last title, "I cannot bring them peace if I do not know what to do."

"I don't know how," she whispered. "I don't know how either, Edward, because I don't know who they _were."_

"They were yours, Bella," he said easily. "Brothers and sisters from your own world that must seem ten thousand leagues away. Whether you knew them or not, they were more yours than they could ever be mine."

Throat thick with sudden emotion, Bella felt the cooling air at her back as the fire died down some. She swallowed hard— she would _not_ lose it in front of this man, this _stranger—_ though it might cost her every ounce of self-control to keep it under control.

"I don't know what to do," she said again, a quiet, almost impossible laugh bubbling on her lips. "I don't know what to tell you, Edward. I don't know what to do."

The flames burned lower still, and when he leaned forward again, she could see the sadness blazing in his eyes. He snatched her hand in his, the grip so tight it was almost painful.

"Tell me what _you_ would do," he pleaded, and Bella heard a new urgency in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Tell me what you do for your dead, how you lay them to rest in peace when their souls have left them. Tell me how you calm the ghosts, Bella, for I have no desire to leave twenty-six spectres to wander on an empty shore, without solace or amity because of something I could have avoided!"

She held her breath in her chest. If she breathed too deeply, drew the nighttime air into her lungs that burned and ached, she knew what she would smell. The salty air, and the fragrant palms on the edge of the water. The seaside brine. The sand, with scuttling crabs and abandoned seashells. The death, the decay, the mouldering flesh, and rank, rotting clothes…

When her tears fell, the King's hand tightened around hers.

"I don't know," she repeated again. "I don't know what to do…"

 _She thought of the cat— the first pet Bella had ever owned— buried in a hole in her Uncle's backyard. She thought of how she'd cried as Charlie poured dirt over the decorated, flashy shoebox, while Bella clung to a blurry polaroid of an orange tail, waving frantically through the misty air._

 _She thought of her father— the nameless, faceless man whose absence had become as much a part of her as her own heart and soul. She had only ever known him by a cold, hard stone in a churchyard, with the words " Husband and Father" inscribed beneath a date that had come all too soon._

 _And finally, though the image pained her, Bella thought of her mother. Her mother alive and dancing. Her mother laughing, and singing, and twirling, before she thought of her mother dead on the floor of the living room, dead in the drawer of the morgue, dead in the satin-lined casket, where Bella had seen her face for the last time when her Uncle, weeping like a baby, had closed the lid to hide her from view._

"I don't know," Bella repeated, and this time, she could not stop the lump from growing. He saw it at once, and though she wanted to rise and leave him, she could not make her legs move.

"I'm sorry…"

"I don't know what to do," she repeated. "I don't know what they'd want, or where they'd like to go…"

"I'm sorry," he said again. When a hot, fat tear splashed down onto her lap, she brought her hand up to wipe at her cheek. His grip tightened on her. "I should have never pushed. I'm sorry…"

Her eyes fixed on the wagons, Bella felt the familiar, deepening sadness grip her heart.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I don't know what to do, no matter how much I wish I did."

And though he didn't say it, Bella knew that he felt the same.

 **A/N: Thank you for your patience! I hope this extra long chapter makes up for my slowness.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Curled on the seat beneath the open, airy window, Bella stared, transfixed, at the bright orb of the moon.

The tea on the sill had grown cold. The fire in the grate, so blisteringly hot earlier in the day, had died down to a tolerable glow of smouldering coals, a river of rippling ebony and orange beneath a scattering of sand and cinders. The room was dark— she could barely see the floor, though the sky outside was glowing— and she sighed, resting her chin on her knees as she let her gaze roam over the yard that was so drastically changed.

Tents had been erected in the soft grass near the jungle trees. Green and grey canvas held up by poles of palm and bamboo remained motionless and still in the late night breeze. None of their occupants moved. Besides the shifting heads of the two men at the head of the path— guards, standing sentry until their shift was done— there was nothing conscious in the yard beyond her kitchen perch. In the house, only Bella was awake, her unanticipated vigil held strong by a busy and troubled conscience.

She had been going over it all in her head since the lights had gone out. She had been thinking about it, her lip between her teeth, when Esme had come out to say goodnight, and Carlisle, returning from his final round through the yard, had pressed his palm to her cheek. It had been eating at her when she'd smiled at them, bidding them good night and sweet dreams, and she'd been turning it over and over in her mind when she'd brushed away the healer's concern and ignored his advice to rest, and to sleep.

The King had asked after her, and like a coward, she'd been false. He'd spoken kind words of comfort to her, and like an idiot, she'd dismissed him. He'd asked her for help, and she'd seen in his eyes how much it had cost him, but like a complete and utter fool, Bella had done nothing but panic, babble, and whinge.

How anyone on this godforsaken Island could have ever thought her a divine Goddess, she would never know.

It had been a simple question. She had not been expecting it, that was true, but it had not been an overly taxing query. She had turned it over and over in her solitude, going over exactly what he had said, and exactly how she had responded, and each time, she felt a shiver of embarrassment ripple up her spine to make her hair stand on end.

" _I don't know,"_ she'd said. _"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."_

But the truth was, she _did_ know.

Bella had never been called brave. From the time she was very small, Bella had earned many descriptors, but none of them had ever spoken of courage, or grace. Constancy had been her friend— like her Uncle Charlie, Bella had always found that she worked best when she knew what to expect. _Expect the unexpected_ had never been her motto. Her mother had laughed at her when they had worked in the garden and Bella had screeched at the sight of a harmless, wiggling earthworm. When a common garter snake had found its way into her Uncle's basement, Bella had fled the house, leaving a scrawled, hasty note for Charlie to find taped to the front door. When she had been forced to make speeches at school, she could not call her day complete until she had thrown up at least once in the farthest stall of the girl's washroom. Cautious, some called her. Tempered. Steady. Careful…

But courageous? Never that. Bravery had never been her strength, and as she sat, brooding in the wee hours of the morning, that very fact ate away at the remnants of her broken, tattered heart.

In the mug of tea, Bella watched the loose leaves swirl in the shallow eddies stirred up by the nighttime breeze. She had made the cup hours ago— long before the hearthfire had died down, and before the last of King Edward's soldiers had made their way to bed. Bella had watched them surreptitiously from the window— had watched them strip out of their red and yellow armour, lay down their great, shining blades, and slip, tired and sore, into their tents to bunker down for a rough night's sleep. She had felt for them— a long day of riding and a long night of planning, and they had nowhere better to rest than a rough bed of woolen covers, cushioned only by Carlisle's well-kept grass. Her own back ached in sympathy, though she had said little and done nothing as she'd watched them prepare.

 _Courage_ , she thought again. _How can I be brave when I'm so horribly and terribly afraid?_

Her Uncle Charlie was brave. A police officer, even one in a town as small as Forks, had no choice. Every day that he woke, and rose, and dressed for duty, Bella saw the courage in his step, the calm on his face. Her mother had been brave— raising a child on her own and facing her demons all the while. Her Mama had always been an odd duck, but even Bella had seen, young though she was, the determination in her bright, sparkling eyes each time she laid eyes on her girl.

But she thought, as she stared out into the quiet night, that if there was ever a time to find some of that fearlessness for herself, that time must be now.

The King's plea ran a loop through her brain, a record on repeat that refused to quit.

 _Tell me what you would do… tell me how to calm the ghosts._

Bella did not believe in ghosts.

Death, as is sometimes the case, was not a mystery to Bella any more than the sun, or the sky, or the stars. She had felt its sting— felt the cold, empty hole that was left behind when someone she loved was torn away— but no matter how it burned or how the edges ached, she knew the truth of it. A death was as as natural and common as a birth, and just as fraught with change and emotion. She had never allowed that emotion to drive her— had never let her heart gain traction over her head— though as with many of her prior beliefs and customs, this, too, seemed to be breaking down.

She had seen singular death. She'd seen one body, beloved and mourned, in a casket beneath pink lights and scented flowers. She'd seen the devastation of a gunshot— how a bullet could tear through a face and leave it almost unrecognizable, though nothing had been able to completely erase the essence that had been her mother. Her laughing mother. Her singing mother. Her dancing, loving, and happy mother…

Bella bit her lip, refusing to let the memory dig yet another claw into her heart. She'd wept more than enough for one day.

"Sleep," said a voice in the darkness, and Bella, suddenly jolted, snapped up. The voice was distant— not near enough to see her lurking, at any rate— though the tenor was familiar and warm. The surprise of it shook her so deeply that she squinted out into the blackness.

There was another figure by the trailhead now. The sentries had been joined by a third— a tall, lanky figure that Bella recognized even at this distance, as she would have even if the guards hadn't bowed low over the man's outstretched hands. As she watched, her eyes glued on the trio, she saw the man wave them off as he shook his head, the reddish tints in his hair catching the merest glimmer of moonlight.

"...rest," Bella heard the voice say. The crickets never seemed louder than they did now. "I am well rested, and the night is calm."

"...orders." The word wafted to her on a breeze. One of the soldiers had spoken. "...not… angry."

"Leave him to me." King Edward spoke louder than the other two. "Do as I say. Rest, and recuperate. We've got another long day tomorrow."

"Yes, sire." The collective voice replied. Bella watched the two men shuffling their feet. The King said nothing more— in fact, he turned away from them to stare down the empty jungle path where the darkness was as thick as fog. She knew he could see nothing. Beyond the bend in the path that would bring them to the water, he could see no more from his vantage point than she could from hers, though that did not deter his steadfast, careful watching.

The two soldiers disappeared into a tent at the far end of the yard.

Bella bit her lip.

The King sat, quiet and still, on a large, round stone just beyond Esme's carved, wooden gate. The wagons sat behind him. Still wrapped in their oiled, white sheets, there was no movement, not even a breezy flutter, from their occupants. There were more dead than living in the jungle tonight, and though this thought had occurred to Bella more than once over the course of the evening, she still could not bare to look at them, covered or not.

She shuddered, heaving a sigh.

The night was quiet once again. The frogs, croaking in the garden undergrowth, lulled Bella into a daze as she gazed out, silent and still, from her windowsill perch. She watched him, her attention on him as direct and focused as his on the trail, and she saw, though he didn't know it, how his still and silent reverie grew serious.

He sat as still as a statue. Only his hair, which blew unencumbered in the breeze, and the loose hem of his tunic, fluttering gently at his waist, gave any indication of movement. He was armed— the ever-present scabbard at his waist was buckled tightly, its great, gleaming weapon sheathed and ready, though he wore no armour. No helmet, no breastplate, no greaves or mail shone under the stars. Even his breaths were invisible— no telltale rise and fall of shoulders to give him away, no deep sighs to mark him as truly _there._

But Bella watched, just as still and just as silent, until she saw his spine stiffen, his head tilt back, and his hands, which had hitherto been clenched around his knees, reach back to the rock beneath him.

He stared up at the sky, his eyes closed and his lips downturned.

Bella rose from her seat.

 _Courage,_ she thought again. _If there was any time in all her life for bravery and pluck, that time was now._

The floor squeaked when she walked. Silent as the night was, she had to stop herself, biting her lip and waiting, determined to go unheard. She would not disturb her hosts with needless noise at this hour— not when they had such a day ahead of them tomorrow. As it was, Bella could already feel the tiredness in her own bones, though she knew that sleep would not come.

She slipped outside as quietly as she could. The air in the yard was cooler than she'd expected— so cool, in fact, that she felt goosebumps rise on her exposed arms. It did not occur to her to grab a shawl— indeed, it had not occurred to her to even dress herself appropriately. Her nightdress was thin— thinner, even, than the linen dress she wore during the day— and when the wind rustled the trees overhead, Bella felt it go right through the thin muslin.

She padded nearer to him, her bare feet shuffling quietly in the grass, until she made it to the boulder where he sat. She stopped just behind the rock, suddenly shy.

"You should be asleep," said the King, without so much as opening an eye. Bella, startled, glanced down at her bare toes and frowned, ignoring the tickle of the verge against her sensitive soles.

"So should you," she countered finally. The King sighed. "But I couldn't manage it… not tonight."

"No," agreed Edward. "Nor I. I've been wandering in the back trees for some time, and I figured I should put myself to good use… give my men a break, if I'm to keep vigil regardless. I feel badly… all of yours and Esme's hard work gone to waste, preparing a bed for me."

Bella said nothing.

"Will you sit?" asked Edward finally, cracking an eye open to glance at her. If he was surprised, or shocked by her choice of dress, he did not say so. His gaze roved down from her hair to her toes, lingering with a frown on her bare feet, which were damp with dew.

In silent acquiescence, Bella shuffled awkwardly onto the rock beside him. The jungle seemed so close here— so near, and tall, and heavy. The darkness was almost palpable— not even the moon, which shone bright at their backs, could illuminate the forest floor, and Bella blinked, trying to dispel the sudden blooms of crimson and violet swimming across her vision. The King watched her, a curious, yet solemn expression on his face, and waited until she spoke again.

"I'm sorry about earlier," said Bella quietly— so quiet, that she was sure he almost missed it. "I had no business losing my head."

He grinned, wry and knowing.

"You've had a trying day," he said. "A very confusing and disheartening day."

Bella sighed.

"It's no excuse," she muttered. "I'm not usually so…"

He raised an eyebrow and Bella, sensing the laughter ready to bubble on his lips, fell silent with a chuckle.

"Nevermind." She shook her head. "The point is… I'm sorry."

"There's no need," said Edward. "You mustn't apologize for how you truly feel."

"You caught me off guard," she said. "I don't know what I was expecting from you, but that wasn't it."

He stared at her, a little guilty.

"I admit," he began, "I was a little… hasty." He glanced back at the wagons. "There are no guidelines for something like this."

"Carlisle said as much," Bella replied. "And I suppose he's right. Twenty six dead is no small number."

He shook his head, his lips pursed.

"The number does not shock me," he said sadly. "You wouldn't understand… _couldn't_ understand, given your history…"

Bella frowned at him.

"We've had many more dead than this, and I expect we will have plenty more before my time is up," he intoned. "Although I've been lucky enough to escape the cruellest losses during my short reign, there have been many in my lifetime."

"Many deaths?" Bella was shocked. "From what?"

He glanced at her, his head cocked.

"Disease," he said gently. "Sickness spreads like wildfire through the Capital. And violence has become a most imminent threat."

"Disease?" Bella felt her stomach twist. "Sickness that kills?"

Again, he watched her, confusion and curiosity warring in every line of his face.

"Do you not have such things where you're from?" he asked gently.

"No, we do…" Bella was quick to clarify. "But it doesn't often… kill. Not in my land, at least…"

"Your land?" He leaned closer to watch her more clearly.

"My… _country_." The English made him frown, but she did not know the Maronese word. "My… home."

"I see," said Edward, though Bella could see that he didn't really.

"It's not that we don't get sick," she explained quickly, "it's that we've… evolved since then. Sure, people get a cold or a sniffle, but they very rarely _die."_

"How do you stop it?" he asked idly. He glanced up at the moon again, his tanned face basking in the light. In comparison to him Bella was a fair, brilliant white. She almost glowed in the steady, silver radiance.

"We've got… treatments," she said. "Medicines, like Carlisle has."

Edward's eyes travelled to Esme's garden, the place where, Bella knew, many of Carlisle's healing plants grew. She could almost see him running over the names and functions of each in that mysterious mind of his, before he settled on her again with a sigh.

"Please don't misunderstand me when I say that plants can only do so much," he said gently. "Carlisle does his best— I'd never suggest otherwise— but he is limited by the tools of his craft."

"We've got… different plants," Bella said. "And… _chemicals."_

"I do not know that word," Edward said gently.

"No," Bella agreed. _Of course he wouldn't._

"But as I've said…" He glanced back at the wagons. "It isn't the number that unsettles me."

Bella, steeling herself, glanced back at the wagons as well. They were still there, just as they had been all evening, still, and silent, and unsettling. _The men had done well,_ Bella thought, _to treat them the way they had._ She hadn't had the nerve to ask— not after her stomach had twisted in knots at the very thought of them— but she'd overheard the conversations between Carlisle, the soldiers, and even the King himself. She knew the care they'd taken to make the bodies suitable for transport. She'd heard Carlisle praising the Watchmen, who'd laid each individual out on the sand. She'd heard the soldiers talking— how challenging it had been to wrap each body in its own linen sheath. She'd listened as Emmett, Edward's most trusted guard, talked about the extra oil they'd brought with them to soak the shrouds— the pungent, aromatic oil that diminished the scent of decay, and kept the wild jungle scavengers at bay. The men had done their job— aside from the obvious human-shaped bundles piled neatly on those massive, strong wagons, nothing— not the sight, not the smell, or even the taste of the air around them spoke of rot or decay.

"It's _them,_ Bella," said Edward suddenly, and she jumped, her trance broken. "It's who they are— who they _were—_ and what all of this means for them, now that they're gone."

He didn't take his eyes off of the dead. Bella, forcing that awfully familiar, rising panic in her chest to retreat, kept her eyes fixed firmly on him.

"I know," she said. Her throat felt suddenly tight. "I know why you struggle…"

Bella did not know what she believed about life after death. In truth, she'd never given it much thought. Only when her mother had died, so suddenly and violently, did Bella even give it so much as a passing thought. She had wondered where her mother had gone— for surely, the woman she'd known and loved could not be summed up by the vessel she'd left behind— but without any solid answers for her childish, grieving heart, she'd given it up in despair.

 _But,_ she thought, _such was not the way of the Maronese people._ Bella did not know all of their beliefs— she suspected that she would have to live a hundred years here before she could understsand them all— but throughout her time here, she had learned some. She knew what they thought of Gods, for the people of this land thought she _was_ one. She knew that there were Gods for crops, and rain, and protection, and war…

And so, she suspected, there would be a God of Death, whose job it was to care for those souls that had departed the world, and see to their eternal lives beyond the veil.

"Ceremony matters," said Edward gently. "It always has. From the time I was a very small boy, my father taught it to me. _Know its value,_ he'd say. Know the value of tradition, and the value of compassion. And there is no ceremony— no _tradition_ — that needs more compassion and care than the Rites of Passage."

Bella paid close attention, meeting his gaze when he turned to look at her.

"When our people die," he continued, "it is not the end of life." He spoke with such sincerity that even Bella— logical, rational, Earthly Bella— felt compelled to at least _listen._ "It is not the end for the _soul,_ even if it is the end for the _body._ We've always believed that something lives on— something greater than the flesh— and that bit of us, whether it's the ghost, or the soul, or the spirit, must be put to rest."

"How?" Bella asked softly. It was the same question he'd asked her earlier in the evening.

"The Rites," said Edward again. "The words, and the deeds, and the memory."

"Memory?"

"We remember our dead," Edward explained. "Always. Their names are carved in stone— on cave walls, on stone tablets, even on the face of the mountains themselves— and we do not forget. Names upon names, all etched, all preserved."

 _Like a tombstone,_ Bella thought.

"We put them to rest," Edward continued. "After the Observation…"

Bella could not help but interrupt.

"Observation?"

"For a day, sometimes more," Edward said. "A… _visitation,_ if you will."

 _A wake._

"Most of the time, it is for family," he said. "If the departed had many friends and loved ones, they might add another day for respects to be paid."

"I understand."

"And then, the Cleansing."

Bella frowned, wondering if she'd misheard. Edward missed nothing, and clarified before she could ask.

"In the days of old— long before the days of even my grandfather's grandfather— the Maronese buried their dead. I don't know how it is done in your world, but in mine, they dug holes, deep into the earth, and they returned the vessel from whence it came."

"It's the same where I'm from…"

"But as I mentioned before, disease is a most unwelcome visitor. Death breeds pestilence, and pestilence breeds sickness, you see. The King of the time— my own ancestor— was the first to Cleanse."

That word, again, made Bella's lips purse.

"Fire," explained Edward. "Glorious and dangerous, it is the cleansing force that helped rid our people of the threat of disease from the dead."

"We call it _cremation,"_ Bella said softly. "When you burn them."

"I'm glad you understand," said Edward. "I would ask you again, what I asked before, if I thought I might get a different response."

Flushed red with shame, Bella nodded her head.

"You will," she promised. "I'm sorry for my…"

"Hush," admonished Edward. "You've nothing to be sorry for." She opened her lips for the merest second, ready to rebut and argue, but fell silent when she met his soft, understanding gaze.

They stared at each other for a long minute. Bella could see the gears turning in his head, the way his eyes flickered over her face, searching for signs of the nervous upset he'd unwittingly caused earlier in the evening. Bella still dreaded the question— she knew what he would ask and she knew how she would respond, though she felt woefully unqualified to give that response.

He spoke softly in the hush.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked, and Bella, feeling her resolve crumbling, gave a quiet, shaky answer.

"Everything you've said sounds exactly as it should be," she said quietly. "I can't speak for all of these people, you understand… I don't know them, or their Gods, or their holy books…"

"None of us do," said Edward quickly.

"It doesn't feel right," she admitted, "to make these kinds of choices for them."

"No," he agreed.

"It should be their families," she went on. "Their loved ones, or their friends… they all have someone, and those are the only people with the right to choose."

"But they are not here," Edward reminded her quietly. "If they were here, they would take them home, and put them to rest with those who have gone before them. They would give them to the sky before they gave them to the earth, and they would weep tears of grief and joy as they watched the smoke ascend. That is our way. That is how we let go, and how we put the souls at ease."

"Those souls are at ease," Bella said gently. The King's head snapped around to watch her. "I know you think they're not…"

"I _know_ they're not," he murmured. Bella could hear his agitation. "How could they be?"

"They're not suffering," said Bella quietly. "That much I _do_ know. Wherever they are— whether they're sleeping, or living a whole new life in a world away from this— they're not suffering. Not anymore."

"You cannot know," said Edward. "There is no way to tell."

He was staring at the wagons again.

"We have many customs," said Bella quickly, "from many different _faiths."_

"Faiths," repeated Edward, the word thick and foreign on his tongue. "What is… _faiths?"_

"Beliefs," she explained. "Gods. Books. A lifestyle."

He listened, rapt.

"Some are buried, and some are burned, like yours," she went on. "When they are burned, some put the ashes in the ground, and some keep them above, in homes or other special places. Some are preserved before they're buried, to stave off the decay and rot, and some, though not many, are preserved in other ways."

"Preserved," mused Edward. "Preserved for what?"

"Exactly my point," said Bella. "I don't know."

He frowned, thinking.

"Each person— each _family_ — has their own customs and practices," she finished. "I cannot speak for everyone that's gone. I don't know their beliefs, and I don't know their wishes…"

 _But she did,_ she thought, _know basic human decency._

"But I think you should do for them as you'd do for anyone else. If it had been any other stranger, without kith or kin to speak for them, what would you do for them if they washed up on your beaches?"

The King blew out a long, quiet breath. Glancing up at the sky, his bright, green eyes roving over the multitude of bright, white stars, he seemed to ponder for a moment, his resolve growing stronger the longer he stared. Bella saw the set of his jaw, watched as some solution came over him like a tidal wave, before he sat up straight, stretching his back, and nodded.

"Thank you," he said gently. "I know it's not an easy question…"

"No, but the answer is simple," she replied, "difficult though the problem may be."

"We have a place," said Edward quietly. "It's not far from the Southern Watchtower."

Bella cocked her head.

"The people call it _Terosankta,"_ said Edward. "It means _sacred place._ It is where we…"

Bella waited.

"It is where the Cleansing takes place," he finished delicately. "There, the smoke will rise above the trees and the ashes can be given back to the world, either by sea or by land. It is a beautiful spot, really, on the edge of the Bay of Tears, opposite the cliffs that overlook the Western half of the island. If you go at dawn, the cliffs turn red with the rising sun."

"It sounds lovely," said Bella. _A perfect place for a funeral,_ she thought. "Is that where we'll take them?"

"If you're amenable, I think we will," he said. "It is a respectable place— a _holy_ place— and one that is nearest to the Gods that they may or may not have loved."

And so, their decision made, Bella and Edward sat, side by side on the large, grey stone, each as silent as the other while they watched the flickering stars. Bella felt a yawn bubbling up— not a dainty, pretty yawn, but a full-mouthed, squeaking monstrosity that made her blush to the roots of her hair as she turned away to hide it. But the King was observant— he didn't miss the sight, and he sure didn't miss the sound, chuckling to himself as he caught it as well, letting out one of his own.

"It seems the night is catching up," said Edward. "Are you tired, Bella?"

"No." The lie was feeble. "I just want to sit out here a while longer."

"You're more than welcome," Edward said softly, "but aren't you cold?"

"No," she lied again. She could feel the hard coldness of the stone seeping through her nightdress. She suppressed a shiver that threatened to roll down her spine.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Edward asked idly, and Bella, indignant, turned to face him. He was grinning at her again, amused to have caught her out, and she deflated at once, shaking her head.

"I don't want to go to sleep," she admitted quietly. "I don't like the dreams, and the house feels too cramped tonight."

"We _have_ rather descended like an unwelcome caravan," Edward sighed, glancing back at the multitude of tents. "Carlisle and Esme are very gracious hosts… and even greater still for allowing our… _cargo_ to join us."

"They're good people," said Bella easily, always ready to praise the healer and his wife. The way they had taken her in, so selfless and sure, would always earn Bella's thanks. She owed them more than she dared to consider.

"The best," agreed Edward. "Esme and my mother were of the same mould."

"Were they?" Aside from the brief stories she'd heard about the late King and Queen's demise, Bella did not know much about Edward's mother or father.

"Kind, gentle, spirited, generous…" Edward spoke fondly, and Bella could see the love he held for both of them. "The best kinds of women, through and through."

"I agree," said Bella. "She's done so much for me."

"It is her way," said Edward simply. "You became very important to her, during your days of confinement."

"Did I?" Bella blinked up at him. "I don't remember."

"No, you wouldn't," said Edward easily. "You were hardly conscious for any of it. But Esme took to you like a bee to nectar from the minute you set foot in that house. I'll never forget the way she and Uncle fought when I came to take you to the Castle…"

"Fought?" Bella shook her head. She could not imagine Carlisle or Esme ever growing heated. "Why would they fight?"

"Uncle was worried," said Edward softly. "Esme can be… _too_ generous."

Bella nodded.

"You were cared for beyond all reasonable expectation," Edward said, delicate and kind. "She bathed you, changed your dressings, brushed your hair, sang to you…"

Her cheeks pinkened.

"But all the while, she became more and more out of sorts," continued Edward. "She didn't eat as she should. Didn't sleep properly either. She became pale, and thin, and Carlisle worried that she would lose her strength, and so he asked me— as his nephew, not his King— if I would take you with me to the castle so that Esme might realize that there were others who could see to your needs as well as she."

Bella did not know what to say. Esme had been a wonderful companion these past weeks since her waking, but never— not once in a million years— would she have thought that Esme felt so strongly for her.

"Why?" Bella asked in bewilderment. "Why was she so concerned?"

"It is her way." Edward shrugged again. "She always has been… she and Carlisle were never able to bring a living child into the world…"

Unable to help herself, Bella glanced back at the garden. Esme had told her about the roses— how each bush, full and lush, had been planted on a tiny grave before the garden had grown so high.

"No children, but she is a mother at heart," finished Edward. "She's just that kind of person."

"Was your mother the same?" asked Bella quietly. Edward smiled.

"She was," he said. "The best mother any boy could want, even if she did scold us something terrible."

"Were you so awful?" she teased. "What could your mother have _possibly_ scolded you for?"

"Oh, don't make me answer those questions just yet," chuckled Edward. Bella was pleased to see the genuine joy he exuded, even though she knew the subject must be raw and painful. "I'd like us to be friends, and I'm sure you'd want nothing to do with me if you heard even half of the mischief my younger self pursued."

Her interest piqued, Bella began to laugh.

"Someday," she promised. "Someday I'll get it out of you."

"I don't doubt it." He shook his head. Bringing one knee up to his chest, he rested his chin on top of it and gazed idly up at the glowing face of the moon. Bella, stretching her stiff back, laid herself down on the rock with her hands beneath her head, staring up at the great, glittering band of the Milky Way. She had never seen stars like this— so numerous and bright, without the harsh glow of city lights to mar the view.

Edward copied her, and soon they lay side by side, their elbows brushing in the dark.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" asked Edward after a long moment of quiet meditation. "The sky, I mean."

"I love the stars," Bella said softly. She always had. Renee had taught her the constellations back when she was just a girl, and Bella had never missed an opportunity to go outside and trace pictures in the sky.

"Someday, I'll tell you all the legends," said Edward indulgently. "Someday, when we've got more time and we're well-rested and fed. I'll tell you about _Tagi_ _ĝ_ _o,_ whose great, bright eye brings the dawn each morning." He pointed at a star in the constellation of Orion that Bella could identify as Rigel. "And of _Stelina,_ whose tears of joy pepper the night when the sun slips away. _Florino_ is there too, with her bouquet of lilac and myrtle," He gestured to a cluster of stars, so close together they seemed but a blur of whitish blue, "and _Verina,_ who is the keeper of memory, and the patron of truth."

He pointed to Cassiopeia on her regal, celestial seat.

"I'd like that," said Bella quietly, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Edward's head turn to look at her. He stared for a long moment— his eyes fixed on her face, her arms beneath her head, until he seemed to realize what he was doing, and looked away with a short cough.

When the wind picked up again, Bella shivered, tucking her toes beneath the hem of her skirt.

"You're cold," Edward said suddenly, sitting up to survey her properly. "And no wonder…"

His thumb, resting on the rock, moved to touch the edge of her nightdress, though he stopped himself before he could. He frowned at the thinness of it— she knew he could see the darkness of the stone through the double layer of her skirt.

"Here." Next to his satchel, which rested on the ground, Edward pulled up a long, thick riding cloak. He offered it freely, his hands winding it around her back and shoulders, until she felt its quick warmth snuff out any lingering chill from the stone. It smelled like straw, as if it had been hanging in a loft, and Bella brought the furry edge to her nose.

"Thank you," said Bella, her words muffled by the hem. Edward tied the leather straps around her shoulders.

"It should keep you warm enough," said Edward, "if you don't want to go inside."

"I don't."

He bit his lip.

"Are you tired?" he asked. "You will not sleep inside, I know, but are you tired?"

She could not stifle her yawn this time, and there was no hiding it, either.

"Lay back," he said softly. "If you won't go to your bed, then take your rest here. I promise you, you'll be quite safe."

"Aren't _you_ tired?" asked Bella, not liking the idea of abandoning him to his post, alone. "You've had a longer day than me…"

"A guard must never sleep on the job," he laughed, "and in case you've forgotten, I've taken over that duty until dawn." There was still no hint of light in the east. "But you've made no such vow."

"No, but…"

"Rest," said Edward. "Carlisle will be cross enough with me as it is."

"Why?"

"You're still healing from those frightening wounds," said Edward quietly, "you've had a long day, and you've had a shock. All three very good reasons for you to take your leave."

"I'd be pretty poor company, if I sleep on the job…"

"Your company has been most welcome." Through the cloak, between the blades of her shoulders, Bella felt his hand, gently urging her down to the flat, hard stone beneath. She didn't fight him. The fur cuff around her neck was drawn up high enough to be a pillow, and as she curled her feet beneath the cloak as well— she was short enough to make it work— she felt exhaustion rolling over her in waves.

"Watch the stars as you go," said Edward softly. The sky twinkled and blinked. "Watch them well, and if you're lucky, you'll see one Stelina's teardrops fall."

And just as he spoke the words, high above the trees, Bella saw the glowing, fiery tail of a golden shooting star.

 **A/N: A shorter, but sweeter consolation prize for your everlasting patience. Thank you again for sticking with me. I hope to get more chapters out soon.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Previously:**

 _"Are you tired?" he asked. "You will not sleep inside, I know, but are you tired?"_

 _She could not stifle her yawn this time, and there was no hiding it, either._

 _"Lay back," he said softly. "If you won't go to your bed, then take your rest here. I promise you, you'll be quite safe."_

 _"Aren't you tired?" asked Bella, not liking the idea of abandoning him to his post, alone. "You've had a longer day than me…"_

 _"A guard must never sleep on the job," he laughed, "and in case you've forgotten, I've taken over that duty until dawn." There was still no hint of light in the east. "But you've made no such vow."_

 _"No, but…"_

 _"Rest," said Edward. "Carlisle will be cross enough with me as it is."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"You're still healing from those frightening wounds," said Edward quietly, "you've had a long day, and you've had a shock. All three very good reasons for you to take your leave."_

 _"I'd be pretty poor company, if I sleep on the job…"_

 _"Your company has been most welcome." Through the cloak, between the blades of her shoulders, Bella felt his hand, gently urging her down to the flat, hard stone beneath. She didn't fight him. The fur cuff around her neck was drawn up high enough to be a pillow, and as she curled her feet beneath the cloak as well— she was short enough to make it work— she felt exhaustion rolling over her in waves._

 _"Watch the stars as you go," said Edward softly. The sky twinkled and blinked. "Watch them well, and if you're lucky, you'll see one Stelina's teardrops fall."_

 _And just as he spoke the words, high above the trees, Bella saw the glowing, fiery tail of a golden shooting star._

 **Chapter 20**

Through the dull haze of drizzle and rain, Bella stared, dumbstruck, at the towering, craggy peak before her.

Kora stood still. The shadow, palpable even in the dim, cloudy sunlight filtering down through thick, ominous clouds, was icy cold. Gone was the damp, uncomfortable warmth of the lowlands, where the humid, sticky air had congealed into a thick, soupy fog. Gone was the sweat on her back, clinging to the dark, weighty fabric of her mourning dress. Gone was her thirst and her heavy, burdensome tiredness, and though people moved around her, murmuring and downcast, Bella could not move as she stared up at the great, towering thing. She was lost in its fearsome magnificence.

The crowd around her rippled like a tide, ebbing and flowing around bends and curves, picking its way carefully around great, grey stones and gnarled, twisted tree roots. Horses were few and far between— men with crude weapons and trimmed beards led women on foot. Older children clung to work-worn, motherly hands. Babies were strapped to hips and chests. Some carried sacs of food. Some brought pouches of water and wine. Some, Bella saw, had brought totems— small tokens of affection and sorrow, gifts for the departed on their journey to the great beyond.

But Bella did not move, staring up towards the great, invisible mountain summit that had vanished into the great wall of darkening clouds overhead.

She had never seen the like of it. Infinitely tall and unbelievably wide, the mountain— one of many in the great, sprawling chain— rose like a pillar towards the sky, so high that it seemed as if the gods themselves could reach down and graze the top. Bella knew that her airplane had flown higher than this— that there was no way on Earth that her flight over the Pacific could be outreached by this monument of stone— but as she stood, transfixed, this seemingly irrelevant fact did not matter. She had never felt so small in all her life as she did now, standing in the beastly, humbling shadow. Nature was master here, and though the armed guards the King had brought with them were numerous and ready, she knew, deep down, that the true master of this domain was wild and dangerous.

"My Lady?" queried the guard called Samuelo, who had been assigned to escort her. Bella glanced at him sheepishly. This was not the first time he'd had to remind her to move, as she was completely and utterly enraptured by the unfamiliar sights and sounds of this as-yet-undiscovered piece of Marolando.

"Sorry," she murmured. Kora, placid and calm, followed directions well when Bella pulled her gently onto the path once more. The crowd of bodies, larger in number than Bella had imagined the night before, parted easily for her, stopping deferentially to let her through. Those eyes watched her with the same, rabid curiosity as they had upon her departure from the Capital just days prior, and though much had happened in the interim, she was still not comfortable with the way they treated her, as if she were some kind of divinity with powers and knowledge unknown to mere mortals.

"Come, My Lady," said Samuelo softly. "We've lost our place. You should be up with the King, ahead of the crowds."

"Sorry," sighed Bella again. The crowds let her through, and Samuelo too, as she picked up her speed, determined to keep Samuelo in Emmett's good graces. Bella had seen that morning just how sharp King Edward's commander could be, and she knew, though it had yet to prove true, that Emmett would not care if Samuelo's slowness was not of his own making.

And besides, Edward had explained to her that morning just how the day would unfold. As chief mourner (for Bella had learned that, in Marolando, every funeral must have a chief mourner whose job it was to receive condolences and tokens of sympathy), Bella was to be at the head of the party, preceded only by the King himself and a litany of guards to keep them safe. They were very close to the West, Edward had warned her. There were dangers all around. The bay that separated them from the Others was narrow. The temptation towards violence would be strong.

The size of the crowd was enormous. Bella had not known about the emissaries, sent to the Capital before sunrise that very morning, to spread the word about the day of mourning, as commanded by their King. _Twenty six dead,_ he had announced. Twenty six lost. Twenty six to be burned, as custom commanded, in the sacred lands of _Terosankta_ , where their bodies could become one with the earth and the sky once more. Twenty six to whom respects were due and for whom mourners were needed. Sympathy for the Healer, who had made the fearsome discovery in the South. Sympathy for the Lady, whose distressed and frightened tears had watered the sandy shores. And most of all, sympathy for those unknown mothers who could not convene with their dead, and who would never know that their children were safe, at rest, and at peace.

The King had sent out his call and his people— his devoted, caring, and willing people— had answered in droves. Bella had been told to expect some— twenty, perhaps a few more— but what had arrived just before noontime on the heels of the soldier's steed had surprised even Carlisle, who had been saddling his horse in preparation for their journey.

Bella had counted at least 143 mourners— men, women, children, and babies— before they had blurred into one great, shuffling mass, and she'd lost track.

"A little further, My Lady," said Samuelo kindly. "Just up that slope..."

Bella followed close behind a tightly-packed group, minding her horse's footfalls as she picked her way around the stumbling crowd before her. The _slope_ , which seemed to Bella more like a cliff, jutted up and out at a dangerous angle, and Bella, watching carefully where Samuelo led his mount, followed close behind. A gust of wind blew down through the trees, which seemed so closely packed together that Bella, with a sudden burst of nerves, felt claustrophobic and anxious all at once. That wind chilled her, sent a wave of cold to the very marrow of her bones, and for the first time since she'd set foot on the island, Bella felt a familiar, uncomfortable chill settling over her.

She shivered in the overcast darkness, and clenched her fingers around Kora's reins.

"Good," said Samuelo gently, taking Kora's pommel once she'd crept close enough. Bella said nothing, allowing him to lead her horse around the potholes and rogue stones that littered the narrow path. The two of them could barely ride abreast— this trail, Bella thought, was obviously not meant for more than one rider at a time, and she wondered what would happen if her horse were to slip off the path into the murky, black undergrowth.

"Nearly there," sighed Samuelo. "This is the worst of it, I promise."

"How can the wagons get through?" Bella shivered at the thought of it. "Will they make it?"

"They always have," said Samuelo steadily. "It's a tight fit, I'll admit, but the oxen are strong and the path will hold."

Bella could not hear the rumbling wheels over the noise of the crowd, which still trickled in behind her. Ahead, in a sudden clearing among the trees, Bella could just make out a flash of violet among the drab greenish-grey of the jungle, and when the rider stopped and turned to look, Bella felt her cheeks pinken at the sight of him.

She had barely spoken a word to him all morning. Waking as she had, tired and stiff on the hard, smooth boulder at the edge of Esme's garden, had been shocking enough, but when she'd sat up, the cloak falling away at her feet, it had been his pink cheeks that had made her falter.

Her nightdress, having ridden up in the night, had left her thighs bare in the early morning light. Another inch or two higher would have shown him more than any man had ever seen before in her life, and from the way his eyes had widened in surprise, Bella wondered just how many women had kept this young King company.

" _I'm sorry,"_ Bella had stammered awkwardly. _"I didn't mean…"_

She had never seen so much as a stray knee from a woman since she'd arrived here, and she had no way of knowing just how private such a thing really was to the Islanders.

" _It's nothing,"_ Edward had said, though everything from the stiffness of his arms to the tension on his face told her he was lying. _"It's no worry."_

When she had tugged the skirt down, the dampness from the stone had made it cling. Bella saw his eyes flitting away from her again, as if the realization of what he was seeing had only just sunk in, and Bella, feeling hot and ashamed, pulled herself gracelessly from the rock.

" _I should…"_ she'd gestured towards the cabin. _"I'll just…"_

The King, his dark eyes fixed so steadfastly on the path that they began to water, nodded quickly.

" _Of course,"_ he'd said. _"Of course. It is a good thing Uncle Carlisle is not yet up…"_

Bella had not paused to ask what he meant. Scarlet with mortification, she had slipped slowly and quietly from her place near the stone. She'd returned the cloak with trembling, chilly fingers before she had fled, fairly running in her haste, back to the house. Though the door had squeaked and the floor had creaked, Bella had managed to slip back into her bed in the spare room of the Healer's Hut without waking so much as a fly, and she had lay, uneasy and nervous, until Esme had come to rouse her.

But despite her feeble attempt at secrecy, Bella knew that Esme had her figured out when she helped her from the bed. Esme had eyed the damp skirts that clung to her legs before glancing out to the garden, where the King sat on the damp rock next to a patch of dry stone where Bella had been just moments before.

"Almost there," said Samuelo again. He did not let go of Kora's pommel as he led her, careful and sure, to the ridge of the great, sloping precipice. Kora pushed her way up, her hooves slipping only slightly in the wet, but tightly packed mud, and as Bella crested over the edge her eyes went wide once more.

The clearing she had seen from the trees had been no true jungle clearing after all. A huge, rounded mound of grass, as green as fresh, spring leaves, sprawled out into a great, blazing whiteness. Flowers, wild and vibrant, formed a bed around Kora's hooves, and as the crowds of people moved ahead of her, she could smell the aromatic perfume that wafted from them. The denseness of the jungle had ended— there were no more trees up ahead to block her path, or obscure her view of the vast, towering mountain range that had so fascinated her on the journey up. It was further than she'd previously thought— from this vantage point, so high above the rest of the island, Bella could see the peak she'd admired in the distance, a good length away from her, though the shadow was long and dark. The ground was soft here, softer than the path had been, and as soon as she could find a quiet spot to stop, she dismounted from her mare and stood, dumbstruck, by the beauty around her.

The green grass peppered with little blooming wildflowers went on for a mile. Trees, dark and ominous, stopped abruptly some three hundred feet from the edge. The crowds filtered in like little worker bees, one after the other, forming an orderly, marching crowd along the treeline, out of Bella's reach and hearing. She watched them move, so synchronised and sure-footed, and from the way they moved, Bella wondered if these people knew something she didn't.

Groups began to form. Some families over here, some over there, some nearer the trees, and some nearer the wagons, which had just begun to roll, steady and slow, into the clearing. The wheels found tracks buried deep beneath the pillowy turf, and seemed to follow their guided path right to the edge of the cliff, where Bella could see the familiar violet glint of the King's coat.

"This way, my Lady," said Samuelo softly. "The horse is well here."

She took his arm when he offered it. Head down and eyes downcast, avoiding the curious, whispering faces that watched her every move, Bella walked between the crowds of mourners, growing ever closer to that purple jacket among the throngs of grey and black. The closer she got to the edge of the grass, the louder the water became.

The cliff was monstrous. Sudden and steep, it dropped off in a jagged, craggy wall that made her dizzy when she glanced over the edge. These were not like any cliffs back home— there were no fences to keep wayward tourists back, and no warning signs to tell of loose rocks or unstable edges. Water churned in the bubbling grey surf, at least a hundred meters down. Waves lapped at the distant, stony face. Gulls squawked, a jubilant, triumphant sound, as they swooped down into the great chasm, across from which Bella could see the not-so-distant red cliffs of the Island's western side, where all sensible folk had been forbidden to go.

Edward's soldiers, lining the edge of the cliff, stared out into the tall, swaying grass beyond. To Bella, it looked almost identical to the clearing they were in now, perhaps a little less tame, a little more unkempt. But Bella knew, even if she had never seen it before, that they were looking for danger, for the telltale signs of heads peeking through the trees, or weapons rising from the verge. They were looking for the _Alia—_ those mysterious, frightening _others_ who'd invaded the East, given the Hollow Lands their name, and who'd murdered the last sovereigns of Marolando, sending the entire island into chaos.

"Bella." The voice broke her from her daydreams, and she blinked, surprised to see Carlisle standing next to her. Samuelo had left, moved to take up his post along the cliffside. "Come, Bella. We must be ready."

"Ready?" she asked. Carlisle took her hand. "Ready for what?"

"To receive," he said gently. "It is our duty."

Bella, nodding her head, followed meekly behind Carlisle as he led her towards the small crowd near the wagons, where the white sheets had turned grey from the dusty, muddy roads.

Awkward and unsure, Bella watched as the crowds of unnamed mourners began to form a queue, arms laden with baskets and sacs. They stopped short when Edward, resplendent in his bright coat, put up a hand.

"I thank you," he said, his voice loud and booming in the sudden hush. "I thank you for joining us, and for showing our Lady your sympathy and respect."

At the words _our Lady,_ the crowds turned to face her, and each head bowed. Bella fought to keep her sudden flush hidden.

"Twenty six souls," continued Edward as the first of the bodies, wrapped in its shroud, was pulled from the wagon. "Twenty six souls lost, and twenty six lives cut short."

The crowd murmured.

"They were not ours in life," Edward said. Carlisle squeezed her hand. "But they _are_ ours in death. I ask for the Gods to show them the joy of the Hereafter, where they might live again in the splendour of the divine."

"Peace be!" chanted the crowd. Bella ducked her head.

"I ask for the Gods to return us to the joy of life, so that we might continue to thrive even though our hearts are sore."

"Peace be!"

"And I ask for peace for those who are left to love— for those who are left without answers or closure— in this most trying time. Peace for the mothers, and the fathers, and the sisters and brothers, who will never know that their loved ones are safe. For the friends and comrades who will never understand where their dead have gone. Peace be."

"Peace be!"

"The Lady will receive you," said Edward softly, after the cries had died down. Bella felt a thrill go through her. "Give her what you can, be it only thoughts or words."

And the queue ramped up again, a procession of bodies all lined up before the King, who stood facing them with an impassive countenance. The few soldiers who were facing the group began to marshall people here and there, and Carlisle took a moment to explain.

"They will come," said Carlisle. "They will give you gifts of sympathy."

"Gifts?"

"It is custom," he said gently. "It is how things are done here. Gifts to ease the transition. When a son or brother is lost, many will give gifts of time. Time spent tilling fields, or hauling wood to ease the burden. The loss of a daughter or sister might prompt gifts of food and clothing… things she might have made had she remained with her family. Fathers and mothers," Carlisle went on, but Bella interrupted him.

"But these people _aren't_ my family."

"I know," whispered Carlisle, just as the first mourner reached Bella's feet. To her astonishment, the man reached out to embrace her, and Bella felt his strong, warm hands thumping her on the back before he handed her a small bag of flour. She held it carefully, making sure not to spill it, before the gentle hands of the King, who had come to stand beside her, took it.

"We will put them on a cart," said Edward softly, leaning down towards her as the man shook Carlisle's hand. "There will be many."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Edward said, and Bella saw him pass the gift off to another soldier who stood next to a substantial wooden cart, not unlike the ones the oxen had pulled to bring the dead.

"And thank _you,"_ Bella said quickly to the retreating man as he bowed to his King and stepped back into the thronging crowd. "For your thoughtfulness."

The man, bowing quietly again to her, backed away and disappeared into the crowd once more.

"Why do they bow to me?" Bella asked uncomfortably. A woman embraced her this time, handing her a bushel of apples and a woven towel. "I'm…"

"You're fascinating to them," said Edward in a hush. "They admire you."

"For what reason?" The woman moved along. "I'm nobody."

"You're not _nobody,"_ frowned Edward. "You're a _person_ , deserving of respect and sympathy as any other. Furthermore, you're in the King's company, which makes them uncertain of your rank. You're a mystery to them— one they're desperate to solve— and they think you're divine. You're a goddess to them, whether you believe it or not, and they'd not risk the wrath of the Gods for anything."

Bella, brow furrowed, shook her head.

"I'm _not_ that," she whispered, but another mourner was upon her. The elderly woman bowed _three_ times before she'd even reached Bella's feet, and Bella had to stop herself from grumbling when the woman pressed her lips to Bella's hands.

"Thank you," said Bella awkwardly. "Thank you for coming…"

The woman, red-faced and tearful, leaned over and whispered.

"Peace," she said. "Peace. That is all I have to offer you, though I wish I had more."

Bella, her heart sore, shook her head.

"It is of no consequence. I thank you." Bella squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"You are a great Lady." The woman bowed again, and retreated without turning her back. "My Great Lady…"

Bella, red-faced and flustered, cleared her throat.

"They're enamoured," said Edward gently. "And not without reason."

Bella listened, accepting a woolen overcoat from a young family.

"They've never seen anything like you before," Edward whispered, pausing only so that Bella could reach down to hug the children, "and I doubt they'll see anything like you again."

Bella sighed.

"I'm _not_ divine," she whispered.

" _I_ know that," said the King easily. "But _they_ don't."

"But…"

"I wish you well, My Lady," a woman interrupted. "And I hope you find your peace."

"Thank you."

She gave a satchel of dried lavender— for clothes closets and packing trunks, the woman said.

"I…"

"Just let them love you, Bella," said Edward gently. "It does no harm, and they mean you no ill will."

"It's a lie," Bella protested, though there was no real fight in her. "I'm _not_ a goddess, and I can't do the things they think I can."

Healing children and blessing the elderly… it would have been laughable, had they not been so devoutly serious.

"They'll learn," said Edward softly. "Give them time. You don't understand how baffling it is, having a stranger in our midst…"

A troupe of little girls, all dressed in stiff, grey frocks, pressed a basket of flowers onto her. Each one of them, wide-eyed and trembling, accepted Bella's embrace with relish.

"They'll come to know you, in time," said Edward gently. "All they need is time."

Bella kept quiet and focused her attention on the the group instead.

While she stood, shaking hands and thanking the crowds, a group of builders from the castle's regiment were hard at work. Bella couldn't help but glance, though the sight made her slightly ill, as they hauled log after log from the jungle trees, piling them into a great, long row of pyres, so near the cliff's edge that Bella felt queasy just thinking of it. She watched them surreptitiously, sneaking quick glances to avoid being caught gawking, until they stood back from their work, and the crowd, which had been so massive just a little while before, began to dissipate and thin.

Groups sat huddled in the canopy of trees, sharing a quick meal between families. The rain was steady now and though someone had thought to bring a parasol to keep Bella dry, her feet were chilled and damp in her open-toed sandals. The King stood strong and unmovable and Bella, unused to such pomp and circumstance, could not help her fidgeting when her legs grew stiff. She smiled to herself when she saw Jasper doing the same, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited, bored and downcast, for the last of the mourners to trail away.

The cart was piled high by the time the group was finished. Gifts of clothing and food, herbs and perfumes, had been graciously donated by the Maronese people, all for Bella with expressions of sympathy and wishes for peace. When the final man trailed away— limping, rather than walking— Bella stretched her spine and glanced carefully at the King, who was watching her with serious, mournful eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently. Bella frowned at him.

"For what?"

"For the final ceremony," he said. When she did not respond he ushered her away from the cart and towards the wooden pyres, upon which all twenty six corpses had been laid, still covered in their shrouds.

Bella's mouth went dry.

"I will speak, and then the fire will be lit," he explained. "The mourners will leave once the flames begin."

"Leave?"

"Yes," said Edward. "The burning is a very… personal affair."

"I see."

Bella bit her lip.

"They will make their way back to the capital with some of the guards. Esme, Carlisle, Jasper, and I will stay here with you."

"Jasper can go…" Bella glanced at him, still fidgeting awkwardly, as a group of boys around his age bowed to him and wished him well. Bella saw the way he glanced at Edward, as if pleading for a reprieve, and she felt her heart squeeze in uncomfortable pity.

"He wants to be here," said Edward quickly. "He asked to come."

"Did he?"

"Yes," said Edward. "He had to come for the ceremony— it would hardly be proper of him to stay behind when so many others have come— but he chose to stay for the burning as well."

Bella sighed.

"He cares for you, in his own way," said Edward wryly. "I don't think he knows how to show it, but he was very concerned when he heard you'd be here for the whole thing."

Bella glanced back at the boy again and he saw her looking, offering her a quick, almost sheepish smile.

"If he wants to, then…"

"He does."

The crowd was silent as the King turned back around. Jasper, seeming to know something that Bella didn't, retreated from the gaggle of boys and came to stand next to her, sandwiching himself between Bella and Esme.

He stood so close that Bella could feel his breath on her hair, quick and sharp.

"You don't have to look," he murmured suddenly, and Bella started. Edward was speaking to the crowd again, but Bella wasn't focused.

"At what?" she whispered.

"The fire," he said, and when she met his bright, blue eyes, she saw a quiet, thunderous fear brewing in them. "It's hot, and bright, and…"

" _You_ don't have to look," she countered softly, wondering just how often he'd seen this before. "You don't even have to _stay_ , if you don't want to."

"Yes, I do," he said quietly. "I do have to stay."

"You don't."

"If you have to, then so do I."

Bella frowned up at him.

"Says who?"

"Says…" His brow crinkled. "I just _do,_ okay?" He squeezed her hand. "I just do."

Bella bit her tongue.

"Did…" Edward was still speaking, but Jasper's whisper interrupted again.

"Yes?"

"Did you know them well?" he asked quietly. "Those people?"

The pyres, now loaded with bodies, were being drenched in a foul-smelling liquid. Bella shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'd never met them before the trip."

"Trip?"

"On the plane," she explained. "They were all on the plane with me."

"Plane?"

"The thing you saw falling," Bella said quickly. "The thing that was on fire."

He simply stared at her, wheels turning.

"The… _plane_ ," he said again, "was the fireball?"

"Yes."

The King stopped talking.

"Peace be with you on your journey home," he said, louder and more firmly than before. "We thank you for your gifts."

" _Peace be,"_ said the crowd again, and Jasper squeezed her hand a little tighter. Carlisle, seeing the whiteness of his face, leaned over and whispered to him, but a curt shake of Jasper's head cut him off and he fell silent, his lips pursed.

"Light the fire!" called Edward loudly, and Bella saw, with a sudden jolt, a man emerging from the trees. In his hand he held a flaming torch and when he lowered it to the sodden wood, the flammable, foul-smelling liquid, caught at once.

It took only a minute before the entire length was engulfed in great, billowing, smoking flames. Bella covered her eyes to block the sudden rush of light, and her sleeve came up to her face to block the smoke.

"May the smoke rise to the sky and return these souls to the Gods!" called Edward over the roar.

The crowd, standing now, repeated the words back to him.

" _May the smoke rise to the sky and return these souls to the Gods!"_

"May the ash dust the ground and return these bodies to the Earth!" said Edward.

" _May the ash dust the ground and return these bodies to the Earth!"_

"And may the light touch the sea, and let their spirits run on the waves!"

" _May the light touch the sea, and let their spirits run on the waves!"_

"Peace be," said Edward quietly, and he bowed his head before the burning hearth. Bella followed suit, and she saw, to her great relief, that she was not alone.

Although Jasper had told her that she was not required to look, that she would not be forced to watch as those bloated, grey corpses turned to dust before their very eyes, Bella could not tear her eyes away from the great, glowing inferno. The blaze was controlled— though the grass was lush beneath it, the builders had set down a wall to keep the flames contained. On one side, they were blocked by a barricade of sand and stone, placed and arranged just so, to keep the flames away from the grass and the distant trees. On the other, they were blocked by the cliff and the great, rushing sea beneath, which churned more viciously than it had when they'd first arrived. Bella could barely hear the water over the roaring flames, but the fact that she _could_ make out the lapping water against the rocks and the incoming rush of the tide told her how angry the sea really was. The rain, still falling steadily on the clearing, was turned to vapour where it hit the fire, and a great cloud of tepid mist was sweeping over them, as if they were walking in a cloud.

Before long, Bella could barely see two feet in front of her for all the fog the rain had made, and so she stared, sad and sorry, at the great, burning fire.

"I'm sorry for your loss," said the King suddenly, and Bella, though she could barely see through the greyness, felt the warmth of his strong, work-worn hand. His fingers twined with hers, his grip strong and sure, and Bella, feeling the sudden rush of warmth, returned the gesture.

When he pulled her close to him— so close that she rested against him— Bella leaned in and sighed, her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said finally, the words almost automatic. "Thank you for… _this."_

She pointed at the fire, and she saw his eyes, obscured only slightly, close for a brief moment.

"It is what's right," he said, so quiet that she almost didn't hear. "It's what they deserve."

The mounds on the pyre— the shouded, misshapen bodies of her fellow passengers— began to crumble and fall. Bella did not know how hot the flames were, or how long the process would take, but as she stared into the deep, blue core of the inferno, she thought she could make out the inevitable dissolution of the bodies.

"Will you come back?" Edward asked suddenly, and Bella, blinking, glanced up.

"Back?" she asked. "Back where?"

"To the castle," he said gently. "You came to find a boat, but there was no boat to be found."

Bella swallowed thickly.

"So will you come back?"

"I… don't know."

For Bella, suddenly overwhelmed and unsure, felt an unfamiliar yearning growing in her chest. The castle had been as much of a home to her as any place on this island could have been. The blue room, with its high windows and beautiful frescos, had been a sanctuary— a place of calm and peace. She'd been healed in that room, brought back from the brink of death by a kind and generous stranger, but it was still not her _true_ home, where she had family, and comfort, and love.

Edward, sensing her hesitation, let go of her hand and wrapped her carefully in his arms, her cheek resting just below his shoulder. The embrace was unfamiliar to her— it was not a perfunctory hug that one friend might give another in her time of grief. Those hugs were sudden, strong and fierce in their very urgency, but this was something else entirely. This time, the arms were tender— his chin rested on her hair, his hands ran smoothly up and down her spine, and despite the fierce blush on her face, she felt her own arms reach up to reciprocate, coming together at the small of his back to secure her to him.

She shivered when the wind came, and his hair blew against her cheek.

"Please come back," he breathed softly, just loud enough for her to hear. "I _want_ you to come back."

Bella bit her lip.

When she said nothing, the King pulled back with sorrowful regret. He watched her carefully, saw the way her lip disappeared between her teeth, how her eyes flickered from his face to the ground at their feet. He pulled away until their hands were all that touched, her delicate, fingers held loosely in his strong ones, and she sighed, meeting his gaze with watery, shaky uncertainty.

"Yes," she said slowly, squeezing the fingers gently. "Yes. If you want me to, I'll come back with you."

For there was nothing left for her in the south— no boats, no planes…

No hope.

"Thank you," said Edward softly. When he kissed the crown of her head, impulsive and quick, Bella glanced nervously towards the other three mourners, who stood, visible only as hazy silhouettes in the glow of the fire. Edward chuckled at her, shaking his head.

"They cannot see us," he said lowly. "No more than we can see them."

Bella nodded.

"I promise you…" He let go of her now, and she stood, shivering, in the damp grass. "Though I know you yearn for what you have lost, I promise you that so long as you are with me, I will do my utmost to make sure that you are happy, and at peace. It's the very least that I can do."

Bella bit her lip.

"Whether you stay, or whether you choose to leave us, so long as you are with me, I will do my utmost to make your stay comfortable and peaceful. You will not want… if there is anything you desire, you need only ask. It will be yours."

"I…" Bella shook her head, trying to clear away the myriad of thoughts that had risen like angry flies in her head. "I…"

Edward waited, his eyes glued on her.

"Thank you."

For what else could she say? This man— this King to whom she was already eternally indebted— seemed the most giving creature she had ever known. Though every ounce of pride in her demanded that she refuse, that she make her own way through this strange world in which she'd found herself, she had learned enough to know that she could not do it on her own. She _needed_ a friend, as difficult as that was for her to admit, and she would readily accept his kindness if it was to be freely given.

"You're welcome," said Edward. "You're most welcome."

And so Bella, who could think of nothing more to say, returned to her place by his side to stare, sorrowful and contemplative, into the heart of the raging funeral pyre.

It was only when she heard the cry— a loud, intrusive, masculine shout— that the spell was broken.

Noise. Running feet. A distant murmur and a sudden rush of movement as soldiers, armed and ready, came streaming, unseen, from the edge of the woods, the face of the cliff. Soldiers that Bella had never noticed, all rushing towards the source of the noise, on the other side of the pyre. The King inched away, his eyes narrowed on some unseen, distant congregation.

"Edward?"

"Hush, Jasper," said Edward softly, rebuking the boy who had come to stand by his side.

"What is it?" asked Jasper quietly. "Is it trouble?"

"Hush!" Edward raised a hand to silence him. Bella, frowning and unsure, craned to listen.

"Come back, darling," said Esme. A note of anxiety coloured her voice now— one that Bella had never heard before— and she obeyed at once. The King, glancing down to her, nodded approvingly as Esme enfolded Bella in her arms.

"What is it?" hollered Edward. No response came. More noise, a sudden shout of rage, and a clatter of swords, and Edward's spine stiffened. His eyes narrowed.

"Where?" called a voice, close and loud. "What is it?"

Another faint cry and Esme glanced up. A yell from the cliff. Voices rose in tandem.

"Wait here," said the King, and Bella watched with rising apprehension as he unsheathed his weapon. "Don't move. Stay close to her."

He directed this at his brother, who gave him a curt nod and stood, stiff and unsure, at Bella's back.

She felt his hands on her shoulders.

Another shout. Carlisle stepped away, his eyes narrowed and his hand on his belt, where a dagger was hanging. A cry. A scream. The screech of metal on stone…

"Go!" A voice roared out from the fog, and Bella, startled, stumbled back as Emmett, filthy and bloodied, appeared from the smoke. He took Jasper by the shoulder and gave him a firm shove towards the trees. "Go, Jasper! Take her and go!"

Emmett disappeared as suddenly as he'd come. Jasper, white as a sheet, grabbed Bella's hand and tugged her forward.

"Come on," he said shakily. "Come on. We've got to go…"

But before they could move, a figure, tall, broad, and unfamiliar, came barrelling from the smoke, his eyes bright and his teeth bared.

Bella saw the entire thing as if it were happening in slow motion. The man, tumbling from the mist, locked his gaze on them, and Jasper's fingers dug deep into her shoulders. She felt him pull her, tug her away, but before he could get so much as a foot from where they stood, three more men came tumbling from the darkness. Tall men. Dangerous men. Men with armour, and swords of great, glinting silver…

Jasper, wasting no more time, reached down and unsheathed his own blade, thrusting with shaking hands as the first man came rushing at them, hollering like a madman. Bella felt Carlisle's fingers gripping the back of her dress and she felt herself yanked back just in time to avoid the collision between man and boy.

Bella screamed, terror and relief mingling in her breast as she saw Jasper rise from the ground, filthy and bloodied, but triumphant and fierce. But as soon as the first man was felled, another rushed forward to take his place, and Bella saw Carlisle, anger twisting every line of his face, rush forward to help his nephew.

Chaos erupted all around them.

Narrowly avoiding the swishing of blades from Carlisle's fray with the stranger, Bella scuttled towards Esme, where she cowered behind one of the soldier's horses. Another man, armed and ready, came from the smoke right in front her, and Bella barely had time to step aside before a mystery soldier in the King's colours rushed forth to stop the blow. Blood splattered the ground. Bella's toes, peeking through the gap in her sandals, were stained red. The man fell, bellowing like a wounded beast, and his fingers grabbed at her ankles. Another set of dirty hands pawed at her skirts. She felt the bite of a blade on her shin, the warm trickle of her own blood oozing down her leg. Did she cry out? She would never be sure… but before she knew it, she'd been thrown haphazardly to the ground, and Carlisle had leapt forward.

Pandemonium erupted. Blinded by mist and choked by smoke, Bella scrabbled, blind, deaf, and dumb, to escape the sudden fray. What had happened? Who were those men? Where had they come from, and what did they want?

She ran before she could find out.

"No! Bella!" Esme's voice, desperate and high, called out as she fled. Bella paused, moved by the terror in Esme's voice.

"Go!" roared a mystery voice, and Bella felt herself thrown forward this time by a blow to the back. She landed hard in the mud, her face and hands covered in brown muck. "Go, My Lady! Run!" The soldier was up and away in a flash, leaving Bella to pick herself back up.

Men emerged from the smoke in droves. Tall men, armoured men, skinny men, and wild men— so many men that Bella, disoriented and confused, stumbled blindly towards the trees. _She had to get away,_ she thought. She had to get away from this violence. She would hide in the trees. She would run, as fast as her legs would carry her, to catch up to the retreating crowd who'd left the clearing not two hours prior. She would tell them of this violence, of this terrible, horrible, confusing assault...

Running blindly through the grass, away from Esme's desperate shouts and the noise of fighting, violence and death, Bella could see the treeline just feet ahead. She skittered to a halt, stopping as fast as she could, but coordination had never been her strong suit and she stopped too late. Her feet skittered over the edge of that steep embankment she'd climbed with Kora just that morning, and she yelped, tumbling head over heels down that craggy hill, coming to a slippery, muddy halt at the base of the slope.

A horse whinnied up above and Bella saw a great, galloping shadow pass by the gap in the trees. Stricken with sudden horror, Bella felt her heart rise in her throat as she remembered what she'd left behind.

 _Kora,_ Bella thought. _How could she have forgotten Kora?_ She'd tied the horse, she remembered, to the base of a tree. She'd tied her, out of sight and out of mind, and she knew, deep in her heart, that the poor beast would be terrified. She would have no way to escape.

She turned around, ready to climb her way back to the clearing before the reality of her situation sunk in and she felt angry tears prick her eyes.

The path had grown slick with mud. Hard and packed though it had been before, the heavy rain and plodding of countless feet had churned it into a veritable mire of muck and water. Her dress was soaked. The wind, billowing down through the canopy of trees, was cold. Bella could barely stand, so slick was the path, and as she gazed up at the dripping, sodden trail, she felt her tears bubble over.

How would she ever get back?

The sounds of fighting continued from the ground above. As she scrabbled for purchase, trying to make her way back to her horse and her people, she could see little of what was going on. Frightening shadows, cast by the fire that still blazed, made their shapes long and sharp. Calls of warning, bellows of pain, shouts of anger, and cries of rage all filtered down through the trees. Branches wavered as they were struck with blades. Arrows whooshed by to knock into tree trunks not far above her own head. Bella kept her body low. Crawling through the dirt and the mud, she wiggled, her fingers reaching for something, _anything,_ to help her up…

A man, armoured and huge, came hurtling over the edge of the bank the from the clearing above. Bella saw, as if in a film, how his massive frame tumbled, riddled with arrows, over the slick, narrow gap. She could not stop him— not at the speed he was going— and she knew, with sudden dread, that her precarious footing on the slippery path would not hold. She braced herself for impact and when he hit her, all the breath left her in a rush _,_ and they hurtled, headlong, beyond the bend in the path, landing in the sharp, prickly bushes that lined the trail.

His weight was crushing. Gasping for breath Bella heaved, shoving on the great, heavy figure until it rolled away from her, face-up in the rain, and she could see exactly who had fallen.

Samuelo, his face white as bone, staring sightless into the pouring rain, water coursing down his cheeks to wash away the blood.

Bella felt sick. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she jumped unsteadily to her feet, her stomach churning as she took a step backwards…

The jolt made her gasp aloud. It was as if she had forgotten the final step in a long staircase, and where she'd expected flat ground, she found an extra stair beneath her feet. The sudden fear, the knowledge, however brief, that she would fall, hit her all at once.

Like her nightmares come to life, Bella found no solid ground as she reached towards the path. Her fingers grabbed at air, her body scraped along the steep, sloping precipice, and she began to fall, down, down, down into the murky undergrowth that had made her so nervous during her ascent to the clearing.

When she finally stopped falling, rolling to a skittering halt at the base of a tree, there were no sounds but the wind and the rain, and not even a hint of fire in the thick, sprawling jungle.

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience! I hope you're still enjoying the story.**

 **If anyone is interested, I've uploaded an updated version of the Map of Marolando on my Weebly site (moonchild707 . weebly . com). Look under the "..." on the right hand side, click "The Island", and then you'll find a link to the map.**


	21. Chapter 21

**WARNING: There is some foul language (and foul characters) in this chapter!**

 **Chapter 21**

Chaos reigned.

Heat blazed from the blistering inferno on the cliff's edge. Smoke choked the air, turning the salty sea breeze into a miasma of grey, churning soot. Ashes fell like dust, peppering the sodden earth beneath his feet, wet with the rain that fell liberally from the clouds, and the blood that spilled from wounded men. Wet, and slick, and boggy. So boggy that his boots stuck in the filth, and he had to pull up hard, stumbling with his sword in hand.

His violet mourning jacket had been lost. Constraining and tight, Edward had shed it in a heartbeat once the fray had broken out. His shirtsleeves had proven feeble armour. Edward knew he had taken a heavy blow to his left arm, and though the wound ached and smarted, he fought on.

It had been some time since his last battle. Practice was a thing entirely separate— Edward had been knocked down, he'd been dealt some nasty blows from able-bodied opponents, but never, in all his time in the ring, had he been afraid for his life. The blades had been blunted, if they were not using the wooden sparring swords. The blows had been soft when a weapon struck a deadly spot on his body. When the whole thing was over, when there was a winner and a loser, his opponent had laughed— they both had— before they'd shaken hands, tossed their weapons aside, and joined together for a drink or bite in the tavern on the edge of the city.

There was no such courtesy this time. Arrows flew, fast as sparrows, through the soupy fog. Men shouted, screamed, and hollered, orders garbled through the sound of trampling feet and the overbearing cries of agony from the injured. Edward walked over corpses— his men, enemy men, and unknown, unnamed men whose allegiance could neither be told nor guessed in the dirt and dark.

The air was rank with the stench of blood.

"Here!" bellowed Emmett, reaching down from his horse to grab one of their own soldiers, grievously injured. "Men, here!"

Another arrow flew. Emmett, quick as a fox, leapt from his steed just in time.

"Edward!" he bellowed, spotting his king. Unarmoured and vulnerable as Edward was, he was not surprised to see the anger on Emmett's face as he flew over and threw a weather-worn shield at him, which Edward caught gratefully.

"You've no business here!" cried Emmett angrily, arriving at his side in an instant. "What in all hell are you doing!?"

A scythe, sharp and lethal, swung up behind Emmett's back and Edward, ignoring the question, shoved his friend aside.

"Down!" he shouted. Emmett fell into the muck, but swung his blade up in a mere instant to strike the aggressor down. Blood blossomed from the man's chest like a morbid, scarlet flower. The bloom grew until it wilted down his sides, and with a great, heaving shudder, the man fell still.

"Where are the girls?" demanded Edward quickly, sheltering the two of them behind the shield. "Where are Esme and Bella?"

"I don't know!" Emmett shouted. Another volley of arrows rained down. "I don't know…"

"Jasper?" Edward urged, but Emmett shook his head.

"I've not seen him," he growled. "What in all hell is going on, Edward!?"

"The west," snarled Edward angrily. "They must have known we'd be here…"

Emmett barely had a chance to scowl before another sword came hacking down on the shield and Edward, fuelled by adrenaline and anger, reared up and struck him dead.

The battle raged. Men, in a seemingly endless troupe, burst from the trees with screams like wild things, taking up the places of their comrades who had fallen. They were numerous and vicious— Edward had never seen their like— but they were heedless and unpolished. Edward's soldiers were well-trained and even better-disciplined, thanks to Emmett's dedication and scrutiny, and even as Edward watched his men facing the onslaught in a confused flurry of noise and blood, he could tell that this was not a battle they would lose.

"Get out of here before you get yourself killed!" Emmett shouted, having chased after Edward when the latter had darted back into the fray. "Go find your girls and get them home!"

"Jasper!" Edward shouted over the din. "Where is Jasper!?"

"I'll find him!" promised Emmett. "I swear to you, Edward, if he is here, I will find him! Now go!"

Edward hesitated for only a moment, his eyes raking the grim scene for any sign of his young brother, but when Emmett caught him hedging, he gave Edward a ruthless, almighty shove towards the trees.

"GO!" he bellowed again, and Edward, seeing sense, turned heel and ran. He had no armour. He had no proper shield. He had only the shirt on his back, the great, filthy sword in his fist, and his nerves of steel, which had not yet broken.

The people of Marolando could not lose another King.

Edward sprinted towards the panicking horses. Tied together in the makeshift paddock, the scent of blood was driving them wild. Magnus stamped his hooves, his nostrils flared and his eyes wide with fear. Kora, Bella's little mare, was rearing and shrieking in absolute terror. Carlisle's mount had escaped, bitten right through the leather reins that held him, and had evidently disappeared into the safety of the trees, away from the noise and the gore. It would be a mercy if he was not eaten by a wild cat, many of which ran rampant so close to the West, where no hunter dared go to kill them.

"Esme!" he shouted, reaching up to untie his beast. "Bella!"

The noise was unbelievable.

"Esme!" he shouted again, freeing Magnus at last. Steady and sure, Edward knew that Magnus could get the girls home, even if he could not join them. "Bella!"

There was no reply.

Fear, hot and sickening, bubbled in his gut. There was no sign of Jasper, whom Edward had seen in the far distance, hacking and thrusting wildly at an armed opponent just as the first of the fighting had broken out. Jasper, whom Edward had told to stay with Bella. No sign of Bella, either, who would undoubtedly be lost in the sudden onslaught of violence and death. Edward did not know much about her— only the very minimal details she'd seen fit to share with him— but he did know that the world she came from did not have violence like this. There were no hacking swords where she was from, nor were there great, violent battles. She was terrified of swords— terrified of the violence they could inflict— and he could not blame her as he slipped in a bloody pool, sliding to his knees before he could catch himself.

"Bella!" he called desperately, shouting out towards the trees. "Bella! Jasper! Esme!"

"Edward!"

The voice was almost a squeak, but he recognized it at once. Wheeling around to face the outer edge of the paddock, Edward nearly wept with relief to see Esme, tousled and disheveled, rushing towards him on unsteady legs. She'd been crying— he could see the tear tracks in the dirt on her face— but when she grabbed his arms, her nails dug in with immediate urgency.

"Edward, she's gone!" she cried. "Gone! I couldn't call her back, and she ran straight into the trees, and…"

Edward, hanging on to Esme's every word, frowned when she trailed off.

"And what?" he demanded. Esme had fallen silent, her face white and terrified. "And what, Esme?"

"You're hurt," she moaned, her shaking fingers reaching out to brush the bloody fabric of his shirt. "Gods above, Edward, you're bleeding…"

"A scratch," he dismissed at once. "But tell me, Esme… where did she go?"

"The trees," she said distractedly. "Jasper was ambushed, and she bolted…"

"Ambushed?" Edward felt positively sick. "Where is he, Esme?"

"Carlisle got him." Esme began rolling up his sleeve. "They're hiding, just behind the trees back there…"

Edward tried to pull his arm away, but Esme held him fast.

"We cannot linger here," said Edward, gently prising her fingers away. "It's dangerous."

"You're bleeding," she said again, but this time, she turned towards the trees. "Lift your arm, Edward… you're losing blood…"

"I'll be _fine."_ His arm smarted when she pressed her hand to the wound. "Where are Carlisle and Jasper?"

"Back there," said Esme again. Edward began to steer her, his hands on her shoulders, towards the thicket of trees she'd pointed at. He could see nothing through the smoke and fog, but when they reached the treeline, Edward saw Carlisle's anxious face peering out from behind a coconut tree. When he saw Esme he snatched her away at once, kissing her in abject relief.

"Esme," he breathed. "Thank the Gods above, I thought you were lost…"

"Where's Bella, Carlisle?" demanded Edward, slipping down onto the steep hill. "Esme says she ran into the trees…"

"Back the way we came," mourned Esme. "I tried to call her back…"

"I didn't mean to let her go, Ed," said Jasper, suddenly appearing at his side. Unable to help himself, Edward hugged him tight. "I didn't mean to lose her…"

"Never mind," said Edward swiftly, giving him a quick once-over. He didn't seem to be injured. "You did well, Jasper."

"They tried to cut her," said Jasper angrily, pulling away. "Those men. They went at her with swords, and I got one, Ed…"

Edward, sick with fear, shushed him at once. He did not want to hear about such things… about his brother— his untrained, untested baby brother— killing a man in battle. He was far too young...

"You did well," Edward said again. "You did very well… but she has gone, and not a soul knows where."

"Back to the trail," said Esme quietly. "We saw her, didn't we, Jas?"

Jasper simply shrugged, brushing his shaggy, blonde fringe out of his eyes.

"We cannot reach the trail," said Carlisle quietly. "Not from here. We'd need to cross the clearing, and that would be suicide."

"What do they want, Ed?" demanded Jasper. "What are they after?"

"I don't know," said Edward. "I don't know, Jasper… but they knew we would be here, and they knew we'd be outnumbered."

"How?"

Edward grimaced.

"That doesn't matter just now," he said, evading Jasper's question. "What matters is getting home, where it's safe, and finding Bella."

Jasper, frowning, nodded his head in a rare display of acquiescence.

"Show me that cut, Edward," said Carlisle gravely, crawling through the muddy undergrowth to crouch next to him. Edward, grimacing, allowed Carlisle to roll up his sleeve. Jasper blanched at the sight of the wound and Esme whimpered, but when Edward glanced down, eying the torn flesh and muscle beneath, he simply sighed.

"When we get home, you can stitch it," said Edward quietly. "Until then…"

But Carlisle, in full healing mode, had stripped off his overcoat and was tying it tightly around the gash, sending shocks of pain to the ends of Edward's fingertips.

"Damn it all!" he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to curse at his uncle. "Be gentle, for God's sake…"

"Sorry," murmured Carlisle. "But the bleeding must be staunched, and that means pressure."

Edward, face flushed, pulled his arm away as soon as he was able, and laid back on his bed of leaves and dirt, closing his eyes.

"If she's on the trail, she'll come across the party," murmured Edward after a long moment of silence.

"Yes," said Carlisle. "And the party has more guards. And armed men."

"They won't be needed," said Jasper quickly. "Listen."

And sure enough, when the group fell silent and focused on the sounds from above, Edward could hear Emmett barking orders, and the clinking of chains that told of prisoners.

And with more bravery than Edward had ever given him credit for, Jasper wiggled his way back up the embankment and peeked, wide-eyed and careful, over the edge of the hill.

"It's done," he said shakily, glancing down with a wry, careful grin. "It's over, Ed. Emmett's got them all."

And before Edward could stop him, he'd vaulted back over the edge of the clearing and was sprinting, headlong and furious, towards the gathering men near the edge of the cliff.

Carlisle was quick to follow. Esme, waiting with Edward as he hauled himself up, helped him carefully over the edge of the bank, where Magnus was waiting to snuffle his hands.

"Good boy," said Edward gently. Magnus, having been freed from his bonds, had waited for his master in the trees, just where Edward had left him, out of the way of the aggression just ahead. Kora, still crying out in fear and terror, continued to rear up on her hind legs, kicking angrily at the tree to which she was tied.

The stallion followed placidly behind its master as Edward, arm-in-arm with Esme, made his way to the crowd.

Men, filthy, bloodied, and stinking, bowed to him as he emerged and Emmett, whose head had snapped up at the sound of Edward's voice, wheeled around.

"Thank the Gods you weren't killed," said Emmett dryly. "No armour, no shield, and yet there you were, right in the thick of it…"

Edward said nothing, but the humourless grin he shared with Emmett spoke volumes.

"You did well today," said Edward, speaking loudly enough for all the men to hear. "You fought bravely, though we were ambushed and unprepared."

The men cheered, and Edward glanced down at the small group of six chained men in the center of the circle. Emmett had shackled their hands, pulled them tight behind their backs, and they were chained at the ankles too, weighted down with heavy irons.

"Who are these men?" he demanded quietly. No one could answer, so Edward turned to the prisoners themselves.

"Who are you?" None of the six answered. They would not even look at him, but instead glanced around at each other, eyes wide and blank.

"What are your names?"

Silence.

"Why did you come here with such violence and anger? Here, of all places… a place of sacred worship?"

Not a word did they speak.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an age. Edward, growing impatient, gave the signal to haul them up, but just as he did, the tallest man— gaunt and thin, but with a wicked glint in his dark, beady eyes— began to speak.

And as words left his lips, his voice rough and low, Edward realized with a jolt just what he was hearing.

Words, strange and unintelligible, flowed from his lips like water. Words that Edward did not know, that made his soldiers anxious. Muttering under his breath, the speech continue to come and the other five began to nod, chains clinking with the motion.

It was only when he heard that one, distinctive sound that Edward realized what he was hearing. He had heard it before, from the lips of that missing beauty who'd fallen from the sky, before she'd been able to speak their tongue. It was the word she'd repeated over and over again, desperate, pleading, crying… until someone, mercifully, had taught her the proper Maronese words. Her tongue was strange to him, flowing, alien, and odd, and as the realization hit him— that these enemies spoke _her_ language— he felt his lip curl and his mood darken.

The word he'd said was _home._

* * *

Bella peeled herself off of the hard, jungle floor and winced, feeling every muscle and bone in her body bruised and aching. Her head was pounding. The cut on her leg, made with that long, sharp blade, smarted as she stepped. Her dress was torn— the black skirt, pleated and full, had torn right up to the waist, leaving a length of bright, white underclothes exposed. The tight waist— _fashionable,_ Esme had called it— had lost several of its stitches and now hung loosely around her slender form. One of the sleeves had come loose and her shoulder was showing, almost as white as the slip beneath her skirt. Her legs were covered in nicks and cuts from wayward branches and thorns, and a wound on her forehead, though she could not see it, was dripping blood onto her front.

The world around her was quiet. Her ears, ringing from the noise and tumult of the fray, struggled to make sense of the hush. Tree frogs croaked and crickets chirped. Wind blew the leaves above and sent a chorus of yellowing, dried foliage down to rest at her feet. Rain dripped down from the heavy canopy of leaves— not a shower, as it had been in the clearing, but great, heavy drops that fell with wet splats as the leaves grew too heavy to hold their puddles. Bella crept close to the wide, gnarled trunk of a moss-covered tree and watched, her eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom, for any sign of life.

The precipice on her left, the one down which she'd tumbled, was sprawling and steep— absolutely unclimbable, regardless of her lack of skill. Ahead, there was nothing but tall, overgrown foliage— what manner of snakes, and spiders, and other wild things might be lurking there, Bella had no desire to find out. To her right and rear were the trees— tall, sloping, swaying in the wind, and tightly packed so as to make any travel difficult and uncomfortable. As she turned, spinning slowly on the spot, she began to realize just how trapped she really was, and she slid down to the ground, burying her face in her knees.

What was she to do now?

Sore and painful, she longed for nothing more than a rest in a nice, warm bed, and a sleep that could last for days. Her entire body was shaking— she was cold, and sore, and frightened all at once, and though everything in her longed for a good cry, she knew it would be of no use.

Where should she go, and what should she do?

Throughout Bella's childhood, her uncle, Charlie, had taught her many things. Charlie was an outdoorsman. Charlie was a cop. Charlie knew how to navigate the twisting, turning, disorienting woods around his homestead in the town of Forks, where so many tourists had gone missing on wayward hikes. The locals knew better— they understood how easy it was to get lost among the great, towering trees, and how valuable the narrow, marked trail system was. They knew to bring satellite phones, and GPS navigators, and compasses and maps, to keep them straight and true on their treks through the woods. Charlie had explained it all to Bella. He'd taken her camping, and hiking, and fishing deep in the wilds of Washington, showing her how to use moss to find true north, and how to navigate with Polaris as a guide.

But as Bella searched, hunting for any sign of telltale moss or starry skies, she knew it would be in vain. Bella had no idea what the Island looked like— had no idea whether she should go North, or East, or South, so even when she discovered all possible sides of the trees and rocks around her covered in thick, foamy moss, it did not matter. The sky was impenetrable— even if it had been dark and clear, there was no way for her to navigate her way back to safety using the stars. The trees were so high and thick that she'd have to risk a fifty-foot climb straight up a smooth tree trunk to garner even the slightest chance at seeing.

And so Bella, hopes dashed and energy spent, lay down next to the wide, gnarled tree, and closed her eyes.

* * *

The crack that woke her was sharp and loud, echoing off of the trees and rocks around her hiding spot. She woke with a start, burrowing deeper into the undergrowth as she fought to blink away the blackness, her eyes wide with sudden fear. Nighttime had descended on her little hamlet, and while she longed to be discovered— to be found out by the search parties that were undoubtedly looking for her— she did not dare to make a sound.

For if Bella's fears were correct, there would be two groups looking for her, and she did not like her odds of being found out by the wrong one.

" _Shush!"_ an angry voice hissed only feet from her. Bella, hardly daring to breathe, glanced helplessly through the gloom, but could see nothing but darkness.

"I can't see a damn _thing,"_ came another voice, gruffer and lower than the first. The first man shushed him again. "It's so _dark."_

"She's out here," growled the first man. Leaves beside her head crackled, and Bella held her breath when the footsteps stopped.

"She won't have made it this far in," grumbled the second man. "She's not a navigator."

"She ran without a map or a guide," grumbled the first, "and I'm going to find her. This is the most direct route to an Eastern trail. Do you know how much that little bitch is worth if we get her back intact?"

Tears, hot and salty, slipped from Bella's eyes.

"Intact?"

"Means you can't touch her, you filthy fucker," said the first man tartly. "King wants her untouched."

"Pity," drawled the second man. "She's a pretty one, I'll give her that."

"Shut your mouth," snapped the first. "You've got no business even _looking_ at her."

"No danger of that!" hooted the second man. The first shushed him again, and Bella felt his boot on her hair. He twisted, and she bit back her cry. "Can't see a damn _thing_ in this dark. Although once the light comes back, I might not be so… _well-mannered."_

The second man sniggered as if he'd made a funny joke, and the first man, growling loudly enough for Bella to hear, shuffled his feet.

The second man, a few feet away from the one standing on her hair, began rifling roughly through the undergrowth, disturbing branches and leaves along the edges of the trees. He moved closer and closer, stabbing what looked like a great, long stick into the foliage, grunting more sharply each time his search came up empty.

 _Please,_ Bella begged silently. _Please don't let them find me. Please don't let them see…_

For she knew, as surely as not, that none of Edward's soldiers would have spoken about _any_ woman in that manner, much less her. She did not know who these men were, or who _King_ was, but she had a strong suspicion that they were not from the East. These were some of the same, hardened men that had run at her with glinting blades and wild eyes. These were the same men who were not afraid to kill, and whose bloodlust Bella had never seen the like.

"She's going to get it when we find her," grumbled the first man angrily when the second stopped his search. "Her and that fucking _animal."_

 _Kora,_ Bella thought, pushing back the sob that had built up in her throat. _Kora must have escaped…_

She prayed that her horse, too, would stay safe and hidden.

"Let's go," sighed the second. "Ain't no bitch out here. Not yet, anyhow…"

The man's foot moved off of her hair and Bella, breathing a shaky sigh of relief, slipped deeper between the great, thick roots at the base of her tree. Every muscle trembled. Every fiber in her body recoiled with violent disgust at the way the men had spoken, the words they'd used to discuss her.

 _Intact._

 _Untouched._

 _Bitch._

 _Animal._

It was only after she began to move again, just as the dawn's first light cast a dull, blue haze over the wakening jungle, that Bella realized that they hadn't been speaking Maronese.

* * *

Lost didn't even begin to describe Bella's circumstances as she strained, out of breath and sweating, to slide between two towering trees deep in the heart of the jungle.

Morning light had come and gone. The sun had risen, hot and white, in the sky overhead, and though she was buried deep enough in the wilderness that she avoided the harsh rays of direct sun, that did not stop the moist, humid jungle from becoming an oven. Heat came in, flushing out the nighttime cold, and while the world above might have been privy to a breeze or some wind, the same courtesy was not afforded to her, sheltered as she was by the jungle flora.

She squeezed herself further into the gap, feeling the hard, unyielding wood pressing against her from the front and back. It was her only way through— too tall, too steep, and too jagged was the way around, and she _had_ to move. She was _desperate_ to move.

For not one hour prior, when she'd collapsed against a wall of stone, had she heard voices, soft words spoken in familiar Maronese, that had driven her into a frenzy.

Twice since her morning exodus had she heard the voices of the two mystery men who'd almost caught her in the night. Once, far in the distance, she'd heard the high-voiced man singing a bawdy, unfamiliar song that would have made a sailor blush. She'd heard him again, a little later on, when she'd found a small, rocky cave to hide in. She'd nearly wet herself with fright when he'd stuck his filthy, brazen head into the gap, narrowly missing Bella when she flattened herself behind a large stone, praying to every God she knew that his maladjusted eyes would miss the telltale movement of her skirt as she fell.

But the Gods had graced her and she'd gone unnoticed by friends and enemies alike. The man had left her again, grumbling unpleasantly as he went, and Bella, skittish as a deer, had bolted as quickly as she could in the absolute opposite direction.

And when she'd heard another voice— quieter and softer this time around— she had not hesitated to squirrel herself away.

She had climbed a tree. Bella, who had never climbed so much as a lawn chair without falling flat on her face, had scaled a thick, rough-barked tree, perching herself in the branches among the spiders and frogs. She could not see the ground below, so well-hidden was her roost, and though these voices sounded different from the ones before— softer, kinder, and in the proper language of the Maronese people— Bella could not summon the courage to let them see her.

She was never to know whether or not those voices had belonged to friends, or if they'd belonged to more unsavoury men hunting her down in a wilderness that was as foreign and hostile as an African desert.

She slid through the gap in the trees with a herculean effort and she stumbled, falling face-first into a tuft of tall weeds, when she shot out.

"Shit," she grumbled, feeling her skirt tear a little further. Already it hung limply, trailing so low she'd been forced to tie it up around her thighs to keep it from tripping her at every turn. Now, the knot had come loose and the whole thing was hanging by just a thread, pooling around her filthy feet and ragged sandals.

One sharp tug pulled it completely free and she stepped out of the garment, conscious of her light, clinging slip. Already she was dreading the night, when the cold air would rush in from the west, as she knew her legs would freeze before morning.

She tied the torn skirt around her neck and plodded on, careful to keep her steps quiet and soft.

By the time evening struck, Bella was exhausted.

Her stomach growled with gnawing hunger. Her legs, stiff and sore from her incessant walking, had been cramping since mid-afternoon. Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. Unable to find any flowing fresh water, Bella had been reduced to sipping condensation from jungle leaves, refusing to drink the murky, tepid water from the few pools she'd come across. She knew it would be dangerous either way— untreated water could mean death. Her uncle had taught her that, as well. Her history books had taught her that cholera was spread by contaminated water. So were dysentery and typhoid. Charlie had gone to school with a boy who'd drank from a filthy pond on a dare back in the 80s, and he had been hospitalized for a week with a nasty giardia infection. Bella didn't know what illnesses might be lurking on this island… cholera was rare in Washington, if it existed at all, but the same could not be said with any certainty about this place.

But still… the last time she had passed a pool— green with moss and algae, teeming with bugs, and stinking to high heaven— it had taken a great deal of self-control to keep herself from plunging in face-first.

She knew she was dehydrated. And she knew that if she didn't find some water soon, she would have bigger problems to deal with than cramping legs.

Forcing herself to move on, Bella tried to ignore the way her thighs burned, or how her steps seemed to lag with each passing minute.

Darkness came with a sudden swiftness that Bella didn't expect. One minute, she had been walking, creeping closer to a break in the trees some fifty feet ahead, but by the time she'd made it all the way, the sun had dipped down behind some invisible obstacle, leaving her squinting in the purple twilight, her lip between her teeth.

There was no place to hide here. No tree roots to burrow under, no long grass to slip into. The trees were tall and slender— no branches in reach to haul herself up— and no stones, large or otherwise, to keep her safe.

But the blackness was encroaching quickly, and Bella knew that she must move if she was to have any chance of a safe night.

She stumbled through the undergrowth. As had become her norm, Bella felt with her feet, painful and torn though they were, for any hidden branches or roots that might impede her. Mosquitos, buzzing and fierce, bit at her face and neck, sneaking beneath the torn skirt she'd tied just that morning. She'd given up scratching— the welts on her arms were beyond an irksome itch, and she was sure that if she'd scratched them any harder, she'd break the skin. The cut on her leg oozed when the low, whipping weeds slapped at it, breaking the fresh scab that had formed in the late afternoon the day before.

Bella plodded on.

Mindless. That is how she felt, dragging her feet in the dirt, her head hung low. Mindlessly walking. Mindlessly wandering. East or west, she did not know. Towards safety or away from it, she could not be sure. Nearer the river, or further from it, she could not say. But onward she walked, her legs pulling and protesting with each step she took, each hill she climbed. She refused to sit— refused to give in to the exhaustion that tugged at each cell of her brain, every muscle in her body. Her head pounded. Her stomach ached. She was so hungry…

She was so thirsty.

Another step.

" _Go!"_

She moved again.

 _"Right there!"_

Bella hung her head, stumbling over a wayward stone.

"Hey!"

Her head snapped up.

Footsteps. Running, charging, darting footsteps, crashing through the undergrowth. Footsteps growing louder. Footsteps drawing nearer…

Fear— cold, hard, desperate terror— snatched her in its icy clutches. She felt it squeeze her heart, felt it permeate every artery and vein as if she'd been given a shot. The heat vanished in a blink, and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her legs, cramped and sore as they were, began to run. Her eyes, wide and panicked, began to tear.

"Go!" the voice called again and Bella, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her, caught a glimpse of movement some fifty feet back. A swishing, black cloak. The tip of a long, jagged stick…

"Got you, little girl!" croaked the man— the skinny, filthy man whose face she'd seen squinting in the mouth of the cave. She let out a strangled cry and bolted, squeezing herself through the gaps between the trees. "Got you, you little bitch!"

The word, _bitch,_ sounded so foreign and frightening that Bella began to cry in earnest, though her legs did not stop.

"Grab her!" barked the smaller man. The larger man— the man with the stick— had longer legs, and Bella saw with dismayed horror how quickly he overtook his partner. She crashed through the trees. Silence was all but forgotten.

"Get her!" squealed the skinny man. "Grab her! That little bitch!"

Bella screamed, desperate for someone— _anyone—_ to hear her.

"Help!" she cried. "Help! Please!"

The man's fingers closed on her skirt.

"No!" Yanking herself free, Bella felt the fabric stretch and tear. The man cursed— a low, vitriolic threat— as she squeezed herself through a gap that was too small for him, and he darted, his breathing heavy and hard, towards the larger gap some twenty feet over.

Bella bolted.

"Get her!" bellowed the thin man. "Grab her, you bastard!"

Their voices began to fade.

"No!" The skinny man shoved his way through the gap that had been too small for his accomplice. Bella could barely see him through the darkness now. "No! Grab her!"

But Bella could no longer hear the heavy breathing of the second man. Running madly, blind with darkness and tears, Bella could only just hear the shouting— the angry, passionate wails of the skinny man demanding his prize. Bella fell to her knees in the dirt. Her stomach, revolting against the terrifying ordeal, heaved, and she gagged, spitting in the dirt.

All was quiet for a long, breathless moment, before Bella heard a swift, sudden noise behind her, and a cold, clammy hand clamped down on her ankle.

Her scream rebounded off the trees.

"Shhh!" A hand clamped over her mouth, and Bella felt herself dragged down to the ground. A great weight settled on her back and she squealed, struggling to free her hands.

"Shhh! Please!"

Bella froze at once.

"Please…" the voice said again. "Please. I won't hurt you. I _couldn't_ hurt you, but _they_ will, and I can't let them find me."

 **A/N: Sorry for the second cliffie... Let me know what you think!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Shhh!" The voice, low and urgent, hissed in her ear but Bella, angry and petrified beneath the weight of another body, continued to squirm.

"Please!" the voice hissed again. Bella felt a tickle of long hair on her face as the figure moved its head. "Please, be quiet!"

Bella wormed and wiggled, her eyes brimming over with tears until she heard her captor hiss softly and duck down. The figure's arm, trembling and shaking, held Bella's face in the dirt, and she gasped, taking in a mouthful of soil.

"Shush!" hissed the voice again. _"Shhh!_ I promise I won't hurt you… Just keep your head down and your mouth shut!"

Bella, breathless and terrified, fell silent and still.

"No!" wailed the voice of the first man— the skinny, stinking man who'd been in hot pursuit. "No! Dammit!"

The figure holding her down shivered again.

"Find her!" he screeched. Birds, angry and tittering, rose in a flock from the treetops. "Find her, dammit! _FIND HER!"_

Footsteps shook the ground beneath them as the men drew nearer. Bella, nearly whimpering with terror, pressed her cheek even deeper into the cool, wet earth until she could smell nothing but musk and taste nothing but dirt. The figure on top of her was as still as a corpse— only the ragged, sharp breaths on the back of Bella's neck told her otherwise.

The figure's head came down next to Bella's, and her vision was clouded by a mass of long, blonde hair.

"Shh…" the voice soothed again. "Shh… just keep quiet and still…"

Bella, wide-eyed and trembling, dug her tooth into her lip so deep that she tasted blood. The weight on her back— crushing and stinging on her still-sore ribs— did not lessen until they heard the crashing of feet off in the distance, and the angry wailing of the skinny man bouncing off of the trees in the thicket to the west. Only when the dark, cool night was eerily silent once more, the shouts of the first man tampered down to a distant screech, did the weight on Bella's back ease and she gasped, flopping over to her back as quickly as she could.

She rounded on the figure, hazy and shadowed beneath the nearest spindly tree. Bella squinted through the dark, her hands raised to ward off another assault, but when her eyes fell on the tall, hunched figure kneeling against the tree trunk, she fell still and silent.

It was not, as Bella had expected, some man come to find her. It was not a soldier, nor a Prince, nor a healer, nor a King…

It was a woman.

Her eyes blazed blue in the strip of moonlight that struck her face. Dark though it was, Bella could see the paleness of her skin, so like many of the Maronese people she'd met in the Capital, and though she struggled to make out details in the dark, her squinted eyes could just make out some of the wariness on her face.

And what a beautiful face it was.

Bella could not look away. Staring at her, frowning like an idiot, she felt her cramped arms slacken and fall as the mystery woman remained still and silent. Bella fell onto her backside, the skirt of her slip squishing in the mud, and they blinked, frowning at each other, until the mystery woman drew herself upright.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was low and musical. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Who are you?" Bella demanded quickly. "What are you doing out here?"

The woman, glancing down at her wet, filthy, and wary companion, cracked a small smile.

"I might ask you the same question," she said. When she reached down and offered her hand, Bella took it carefully. Her grip was strong— thin though she was, with dark, bruised circles under her eyes, she did not waver as she hauled Bella to her feet, grimacing with pity when Bella tried to brush the wet, sticky mud off of her clothes.

"Who are those men?" Bella glanced nervously towards the place where they had vanished. "What are they looking for?"

The woman shook her head.

"We cannot tarry," she said softly. "We cannot linger here."

"But…"

"They will come back," said the woman urgently. "They always do. And now that they've seen you…"

Bella shivered in the dark.

"They'll come back. Maybe with men, maybe with dogs, maybe both…"

Wind blew down from the trees, sending a flutter of small, silvery leaves to the forest floor.

"We must move. And I must return."

"Return?"

The woman surveyed her, her lips suddenly tight. Bella saw the distrust marring her face at once— that same suspicious, angry, righteous resistance that was rising high in Bella's own breast. She did not know this woman, and this woman did not know her. Bella did not know if she was friend or foe, or something so foul that those men— those stinking, grabbing, dangerous men— might be the kinder alternative. She surveyed Bella for a long moment, and Bella watched her, too… watched those piercing blue eyes rove over her face, her neck, her arms. They paused on her forehead, where the angry gash had reopened to drip blood onto the white front of her undershirt. They paused on her waist, where the dress, once tight, now hung loose and sagging. They stopped altogether on her wrist, which was swollen, purple, and stinging again after hard fall down the precipice, and finally, she stared at Bella's face, open, exhausted, and hostile though it must be.

"You're hurt," said the woman gently.

Bella did not argue.

"You're… weak."

Her shaking limbs and tearful eyes could not hide this truth, either.

"Your dress…"

The skirt was still tied around Bella's throat. The waist, which had been pulled and tugged, was beyond repair, hanging limply from the loose stitches around her chest. Her slip was filthy— what had once been white was stained brown with grime, and her legs, spindly and stick-thin since her recent bedrest, poked out like two matchsticks from a box.

"Did they… touch you?"

"No," Bella said honestly. "Not like that…"

Her skin crawled with sudden revulsion. The woman looked inexplicably relieved.

"Good," she said. She rested her head against the trunk of the tree. Her shoulders slumped when she sighed. "Good…"

A branch, far off in the distance, snapped noisily in the dark, and Bella, already on edge, yelped. The woman's eyes widened with sudden fear as the sound echoed off of the nearby trees, bouncing down along the rocks until it seemed to ring out all around them, mocking

"Shhh!" The woman flapped her hands. "Be quiet!"

Hands clamped on her mouth, Bella clenched her eyes shut and fought back the tears that had risen like waves, biting the inside of her cheek. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder as she stood, wiping angrily at her face.

"We must move," said the mystery woman again. Her voice was low and hoarse now. "We cannot tarry here..."

Bella, rising carefully to her feet, wrapped her arms around her middle. Everything in her screamed resistance— _don't be stupid. Do not follow this woman. Do not let her lead you into some new danger, where God only knows what vile fate awaits you..._

But when the woman took her hand, the pressure was grounding. Bella squeezed those fingers as tightly as she dared, the last of her sanity clinging to this new and heartfelt warmth like a lifeline.

"Come." The woman tugged on her arm. "We must move…"

Another branch cracked and Bella, all protests forgotten, stumbled after her new guide on shaking legs.

The woman moved quickly through the maze of tall, spindly trees. Bella struggled to keep up— her legs were short and her muscles were weak, but this woman was tall and strong. She had a good six inches on Bella. Her arms, bare and gleaming in the light from the moon, were strong and wiry. Her grip did not falter. When Bella stumbled, catching her toe on a hidden root or stone, the woman held fast to her hand, keeping her upright and moving. Bella did not suffer any more injuries under the woman's watch. She moved with a purpose. Trails that Bella could not see and landmarks she could not distinguish seemed to guide them, and though Bella could make neither head nor tail of the woman's strange bends and turns, she moved, without stopping once, until the moon was high overhead and the spidery trees had made way for the familiar thick, gnarled trunks she'd moved through earlier.

Only when they were hidden in the shadow of a particularly large, imposing trunk did the woman stop, panting as she let go of Bella's hand. Bella slipped to the ground as her legs turned to jelly, and she rested her cheek on her sharp and sweaty knee.

"I'm sorry," said the woman, breathless. "I know you're tired…"

Bella said nothing, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat. The exertion made her nauseous— she could feel her stomach twisting and snarling, though it had nothing to give up…

She wretched nonetheless.

"Shhh…" The woman held her braid and fanned her neck. "Shhh… I'm sorry, love."

Bella shook her head.

"Thank you," she croaked hoarsely. "For…"

But the woman, looking anxious and tense, shook her head.

"Don't," she said gently. "Don't thank me yet. We're not any closer to safety than we were a few hours ago, though I suppose we _are_ closer to a reprieve."

Bella frowned.

"Can you walk?" asked the woman. She knelt by Bella's side. "It's not much further."

"What's not much further?" Bella asked.

"My… home," she finished awkwardly. "Or what I've been calling home for the past little while."

Bella, confused, shook her head.

"Come," said the woman again. Bella, wanting nothing more than to sink into the leaves and _sleep,_ hauled herself away from the mess she had made, and took the sweaty hand back in hers.

"Slowly now," said the woman softly. "I've heard nothing for almost an hour."

Bella frowned.

"Where are we?" she asked. The jungle looked exactly as it had when she first started out at the base of the precipice. "Where have we gone?"

"We're just east of the mountains," explained the woman. "South of the pass."

"Pass?" Bella asked dazedly. "What pass?"

The woman stared at her, astonished.

"The mountain pass," she said slowly. Bella felt the fingers tighten around her own. "The pass through the mountains, the one that leads to…"

Bella, dumbfounded, shook her head.

"I'm not… well-versed in maps," she said slowly. The woman stared at her. "I'm not…"

The woman halted, and Bella stumbled.

"Where did you come from?" she asked.

Bella hedged.

"What happened to drive you into the trees?"

Bella frowned.

"I…"

The woman's face was a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Bella had seen that look before— the look of someone who wanted desperately to know more, yet who feared what she might learn.

"The Capital," Bella said slowly. "I want to go to the Capital."

The woman, still frowning, nodded slowly.

"But where did you _come_ from?" she asked. "How did you get here, in the jungle, wearing an old mourning dress?"

The black skirt around her neck fluttered in the wind. The woman, shivering slightly, backed away to see her more clearly, though Bella, suddenly fearful, huddled back against a tree.

"I…"

The woman remained silent.

"There was a… ceremony," Bella said awkwardly. She did not have all the words she needed. "There was a… fire."

The woman's jaw slackened, and her eyes went wide.

" _Terosankta,"_ she murmured gently. "By the Gods…"

Bella, sniffling in the chill, nodded her head.

"Did they…" The woman's cheeks went red. "Did they…"

"They attacked," Bella said quietly. "The men from the West. They attacked us while we burned them…"

"They what?" she said. Bella thought she saw anger on that pretty face now. "They what?"

"They… attacked."

"Attacked?"

"Swords," Bella said nervously, "and axes. Arrows. Shields…"

" _You?"_ The woman spoke incredulously. "They attacked _you?"_

"The King," Bella whimpered. _She hoped he was safe._ "The King, and the Prince, and the Healer…"

The woman spit on the ground at Bella's feet, and she jumped in surprise.

" _Malbone!"_ she hissed. _"Malbone,_ the lot of them!"

Bella, surprised by her vehemence, said nothing.

"Did they complete the ritual?" she asked. "Tell me that the fire burned out…"

"I…" Bella shook her head. "I don't know. I ran before it finished, and I fell…"

She spat again. Her face, a hard mask of disgust and anger, softened only when Bella jumped, her nerves showing on her face.

" _Mea culpa,"_ said the woman quickly, and it struck Bella suddenly that she knew those words from somewhere _other_ than the Island. _"Mea culpa…_ I'm sorry for what they did."

"It wasn't _you,"_ said Bella. "But thank you."

The woman curled her lip.

"It isn't right," she said quietly, "to deny the dead their due. It isn't… _holy._ "

Bella forced back the image of those bodies on the beach, and bit her tongue to keep her mouth shut. This woman, whoever she was, did not want to be burdened with Bella's nightmares.

"And it isn't holy to attack a King," she continued. "And the Prince… the Prince is just a boy, is he not?"

Bella, her eyes full of worried tears, nodded her head. _Jasper had killed a man,_ she thought. _He'd cut him down, struck him dead..._

"I just hope…" The woman spoke almost too quietly for Bella to hear, and her head snapped up. "Nevermind."

Bella knew better than to pry. Quiet and careful, she drew herself up again and stepped out of the shadow of the tree, carefully coming to stand beside her mystery companion.

"We've tarried too long," said the woman gently. "We must get back. If…"

She bit her lip again.

"If what?" Bella asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. You'll see soon enough."

The foreboding in Bella's stomach was only outmatched by her fear of being left alone, and so, despite her misgivings, she followed the woman into the dark.

* * *

When they came to the mouth of the cave, Bella would have walked right on by had the woman not stopped.

"Here," she said, gesturing to spot on the overgrown cliffside. Bella glanced up and down, left and right, her brow furrowed in careful observation.

The side of the embankment near which they were stopped was high and steep. Like so many cliffs Bella had come across on the edge of this mountain range, it was made of rough, grey stone that protruded in sharp angles and edges. Above, Bella saw more trees. Some fifty feet above her head, the jungle seemed to stretch on forever, and Bella wondered just how high a person would have to climb before the trees thinned for good, and they found themselves on the mountain proper.

"Through here," said the woman in a hush. "Quietly."

Bella, confused, took another step forward. The detritus beneath her feet was thick and troublesome, and she picked a careful path towards the cliff face, her hands reaching out to grab the vines and bracken trailing down from the top.

"Are we climbing?" asked Bella, her stomach lurching. "I don't know if…"

"No," panted the woman. She slipped past Bella to touch the stone. "Not climbing…"

Bella stared at her as she began to move. Hugging the wall, the woman began to skirt her way slowly to the left, her fingers groping blindly in the vines for some handle Bella could not see.

"What…?"

"Just a minute," said the woman. "Just give me a second…"

It only took another few moments before the woman's face broke into an inexplicable smile. Fist buried deep in the green overgrowth, Bella watched as she gave an almighty tug, and to her infinite surprise, a dull wash of orange light spilled over Bella's feet.

"Quickly," said the woman. Bella stared, dumbstruck, into the brightness. "Quickly, before someone sees!"

The orange glow was like a beacon in the dark. It stung her eyes— it was so bright in the midnight darkness— and Bella, with a sudden rush of fear, bolted forward towards the alcove from which it emanated. She crashed through the grass, stumbling clumsily through the space in the leaves, and promptly tripped over a pile of furs near the entranceway and fell, sprawled out on the cool, stone floor.

The woman followed quickly after her and hissed as Bella, grimacing, peeled herself off of the ground. Ignoring her bloodied knees and palms, she blinked, dumbstruck, at the sight.

The night's cool air had been driven out by a small, glowing fire in the center of the space. The rough stone walls were close and the ceiling, low, but that cheery, orange glow made the space cozy and warm. A stack of furs, mismatched and worn, were stacked by the entranceway. A wooden pail of water, still and clear, sat near the side wall. Next to the fire, on a crude spit carved from a gnarled, wooden branch, were the remains of two cooked rabbits, the carcasses picked clean. The back of the cave was dark— so dark that Bella could not see what lay beyond, though if she squinted, she thought she could make out another pile of furs.

Bella blinked stupidly as the woman rearranged the vines until the night sky outside was invisible, and she sank, breathless, into the furs by the door.

"Thank the Gods," she sighed quietly. "Thank the Gods we made it."

Bella stared at her, her eyes wide.

"What is this place?" Bella asked. "Where are we?"

"The eastern side of the mountains, praise the Gods," said the woman. She gave Bella a cursory glance before she began rummaging in a sac near the fire. "We've made it this far."

 _This far…_

Bella kept her mouth shut.

"We're near the cliffs," she said quietly. "Near the Cave, if my estimations are correct."

"The Cave?"

The woman pulled a small, whittled cup from the sac. Dipping the brim in the pail of water, she handed it carefully to Bella, who guzzled it down in a single gulp. The woman filled it again for her.

"The old mines," said the woman. She continued digging. "I suspect, though I don't know, that this cave was a holding place."

"Holding place for what?" Bella brushed the sand from her new wounds.

"Wood, ore, minerals, metals, men…" The woman hauled a rolled white bandage from the sac. "I wouldn't know."

Bella grimaced, pulling a sharp shard of stone from her knee.

"But we're far from the pass, that's for sure," said the woman. "Far from the…"

"The what?"

The woman hesitated.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Nothing of importance just now."

Bella opened her mouth to protest.

"Come here," said the woman gently. "Sit by the fire and let me see those wounds. Your leg is bleeding."

And sure enough, when Bella glanced down at her calves, she saw that the cut from the attacker's blade at the burning ceremony had opened yet again, and was dripping large, red droplets onto the stone.

Bella went placidly to the fireside. The warmth, so dry and welcoming, made her drowsy as the woman peeled back her filthy skirt and tutted. Bella watched her dip the edge of a cloth into the basin of water, and she bit back her cry when she began dabbing at the wound.

"You'll get an infection," said the woman lowly. "Wounds should be kept clean."

"I know that," Bella sighed. "But…"

The woman bit her tongue, and Bella bit back another cry when she began to wrap the white linen bandage around her calf, much tighter than Carlisle would have.

 _Carlisle…_ Bella thought. _And Esme. She hoped they were safe..._

"Sorry," said the woman. "But I must."

Bella kept her mouth shut. The woman worked with steady, gentle hands, and before long, Bella felt the sharp pain recede and a dull ache set in, throbbing in time with her pulse.

"Thank you," she said gruffly. "I appreciate it…"

The woman waved her off.

"It's nothing," she said, reaching for Bella's hands. She wiped them clean with the wet cloth, but otherwise left them alone. "It's no more than you'd do for me, I'm sure…"

"How long have you been here?" asked Bella softly. "And _why?"_

The woman sighed.

"Two days," she murmured. "I've been here two days, ever since I caught sight of those two thugs when I went to check the traps."

"Traps?"

The woman jerked her chin at the rabbit carcasses.

"Oh." Bella took the cloth herself, when it was offered, and wiped gingerly at the cut on her forehead. Blood that had dried black on her face came back red and wet when the water touched it, and her head ached when the wound began to ooze once more. The woman dragged the pail of water even closer, and Bella gratefully accepted the second cloth to wash her face.

"There's more in the stream," said the woman gently. "So you go ahead. I'll wash in the morning, once I've checked the perimeter."

"Stream?" Bella asked, wiping the cloth over her arms. Brown dirt made way for white flesh, and she grimaced when she rinsed out the cloth, turning the water grey.

"About a hundred feet down," said the woman, gesturing vaguely to the left. "There's plenty of fresh water, and fish to eat."

Bella, scrubbing anxiously at her neck, nodded her understanding.

The woman watched her for only a moment, before she turned her back and began rifling through another sac. Bella took the opportunity to dip the cloth down the neck of her dress, and finished just in time for the woman to turn back around.

"Here," she said, and Bella's eyes widened at the sight of the offering. "You can hardly go out in _that,_ when it's time for us to move."

 _Us._ The woman had said _us,_ not _me._ Bella stared at her, dumbfounded, until the woman rolled her eyes and placed the bundle by Bella's left hip, looking awkward and nervous.

"I've got plenty," she said quietly. "Don't worry yourself over it. Just…"

Bella eyed the basin of water with renewed urgency, and the woman nodded eagerly.

"Yes," she said. "Wash yourself and put those on." The clothing, warm, soft, and serviceable, was reason enough for Bella to listen. "When you're done, we'll talk."

Bella, unable to say anything else, nodded her silent agreement and stared, dumbstruck, as the woman retreated to the furs at the back of the cave. Bella watched her in the dark— what little of her she could see, anyhow— and waited until she had laid her head down on the furs, her arms reaching out to grab something Bella could not see, before she stripped.

The dress fell off in a wet, stinking heap. Grimacing at the sight of it, she began her quick and diligent duty of washing. She had not been away from a wash basin for that long— the morning of the ceremony, only three days prior, she had scrubbed herself raw in an effort to stave off the sweat from the Island's damp heat. She had washed with the lavender soap that was Esme's special favourite— the one that left her skin soft and satiny, with a hint of herbal perfume that lingered until evening. She had washed her hair before she left the castle— in the great, wooden wash tub, filled to the brim with steaming water by bucket-toting chambermaids, Bella had relaxed into the bubbles, while little Alice massaged cleansing oils and solvents into her long, dark hair.

Bella liked to be clean. She liked the feeling of washed skin and hair, heavy with water after a good, long scrub. She liked the smell of soap— of linen, and spices, and herbs— and she liked the pink glow of her otherwise pale and pasty skin. She liked the warmth of the water, and the steam on her face, and the singular feeling of slipping her clean body into fresh clothes after a hard day's work.

But there was something about this— about this basin of dirtied, greying water— that felt more satisfying than even a bath. A bath was a luxury in Marolando— back home in Forks, a tub of hot, steaming water could be summoned with a simple twist of a knob. It could be emptied with a tug on a string. Bella had never given much thought to how lucky she was to have such a luxury until she had come to the Island, where the tub took an hour to fill, and half again to empty.

But wiping herself clean before the softly glowing fire in the cave was an experience so deep and satisfying that she worked with zeal and relish. Her arms turned white in minutes, and her legs were scrubbed pink. Her face, which was caked with mud, and blood, and dirt, was soft and clean by the time she had finished, and when she felt herself entirely cleansed— not an hint of dirt to be found— she slipped gratefully into the thin, white shorts, the overlarge, grey tunic, and the long, yet workable, men's pants. She rolled the cuffs of her sleeves back and tightened the drawstring waist as tightly as she could, and just as she finished braiding her hair, tying it off with a strip of fabric torn from the skirt of her old dress, did the woman peek back over the edge of the bed.

"Good," she praised, and for the first time, Bella saw that she, too, was not wearing skirts. "You can throw that dress in the fire, if there's nothing salvageable."

Bella, having no particular affection for the soiled and ruined garment, tore off a few strips of serviceable fabric that had been spared, and tossed the rest into the coals, where it sizzled, and popped, and smoked.

The woman, sitting cross-legged against the cave wall, watched Bella with curious eyes.

"You look better," she said softly. "Much better. When I first saw you, I could barely tell whether you were a child or a woman."

Bella, unable to stop herself, laughed.

"I doubt anyone could tell now, either," she chuckled. She waved her arms in the overlarge sleeves to prove it. "But I thank you," she said. "I'm very grateful."

The woman, unperturbed, simply nodded.

"I…" she began. "I haven't even asked your name."

"Bella," she said quickly. The woman grinned. "Well… Isabella, but I go by Bella."

"Bella," said the woman. "Not a very common name."

"Perhaps not," Bella shrugged, only a little awkward. "But it's mine."

The woman said nothing.

"And you?" Bella prompted. "What should I call you?"

The woman blew out a breath.

"Rosalie," she said finally, and Bella saw how her eyes stared down at the floor. "My name is Rosalie, and…"

Bella waited.

"And…"

" _No!"_

The voice, so unexpected and sharp, made Bella yelp as she wheeled around to face the back of the cave. The woman, Rosalie, glanced back as well, but when she saw the look of worry on Bella's face, she was quick to act.

"It's alright," she said quickly. A flurry of movement came from the back of the cave, and Rosalie stood. "It's alright…"

Bella, heart racing, felt her pulse in her throat. Rosalie moved, careful and soft, to the edge of the cot, where she reached down and smiled, her hands outstretched.

"Shhh, darling…" Rosalie crooned. "Hush now. It's alright…"

And Bella, eyes glittering, saw for the first time just what was lurking in the back of the cave. Rosalie stood up, her hair brushing the top of the stone, but when Bella saw the creature cradled in the crook of her arm, she felt her heart throb with silent pity.

A child— a boy no older than three— clinging to his mother's neck as he trembled, his face glazed with tears.

Bella couldn't speak.

"Hush, sweetheart," crooned Rosalie. "Hush now. It's alright…"

But the boy was staring at Bella, his wide, grey eyes locked on hers. She watched the terror flicker over his face like quicksilver— one second calm, the next confused, and a mere moment later, absolutely terrified.

The child began to wail.

"No, no, no…" Rosalie began to bounce him, her eyes flickering madly towards the covered entrance. "No, sweetheart, no… hush now…"

Bella, pale with worry, glanced fearfully towards the mouth of the cave.

"It's alright!" Bella croaked, her hands outstretched. The boy wailed louder. "It's alright…"

"You're safe, my darling… safe…" Rosalie pressed his little face to her shoulder, trying to muffle the noise. Her eyes were wide with fear. "Safe, my little one…"

The boy continued to cry, pushing against his mother's hold until finally, Rosalie was forced to put him down. The child scrambled petrified, to the furthest, darkest corner of the cot. Bella watched, baffled and heartsore, when he pressed his little body into the furs and disappeared from view, his tears muffled by the bedding.

Rosalie stood, horror-struck, as she watched him burrow deeper into the furs, and when neither woman could see anything other than a lone, wiggling foot, Bella collapsed onto the floor by the bed.

"I'm sorry," spluttered Rosalie, and Bella was surprised to see her cheeks were red and blotchy. Tears swam in her eyes. "I'm sorry… I didn't think he'd…"

She glanced back helplessly at the squirming bundle, still crying and shivering, at a loss for words.

"Is he…" Bella cleared her throat. "Is he your son?"

The woman, tearful and trembling, nodded.

"And he…"

Rosalie shook her head.

"He's scared," she said softly. "Terrified. Especially of strangers."

Bella bit her lip.

"I'm sorry…" she said, her heart still hammering in her throat. "I'm sorry I scared him."

"It wasn't _you_. Please don't think it was…" said Rosalie tiredly. "He'll warm up eventually…"

The cries died down some and Rosalie glanced back towards the bed. From the furthest recesses, Bella could see the wide, grey eyes peering at them through the darkness, flickering between the stranger and his mother.

"It's my fault," murmured Rosalie. "I told him to be wary, and I should have known better…"

The boy, catching Bella's eye, ducked back down in his bed and fell still, his sharp, little pants audible over the crackling fire. Bella, feeling cheap, looked away at once.

The wind outside picked up, and the fire flickered in the draft.

"I'm sorry," said Bella again, feeble and small. Bella had no idea what kind of life that child had lived to make him so fearful of a stranger as small and harmless as she. "I'm very sorry…"

And for the first time, when Rosalie glanced at her, Bella thought she could see the shadow of a bruise on the curve of her chin.

"You…" Bella spoke gently, reaching out to brush the mark with her fingertips. Startled, Rosalie drew back, and the boy gave a sharp gasp before he, too, fell still and silent. Rosalie's eyes went hard at once, and Bella, troubled and abashed, let her hand fall to her side when the other woman pulled back.

"You look exhausted," said Rosalie quickly, and Bella, frowning, saw her turn away. She ducked her head, hiding her face from Bella's view. "And you're pale…"

"I'm fine."

Rosalie grimaced. Bella, tense and quiet, watched her companion with eagle eyes.

"We should sleep," she said finally. "I'll put the fire out."

"Out?"

"The smoke will attract attention," said Rosalie gruffly. "The mist has held this long, but it's cold tonight. The morning will be clear."

"Should we keep watch?"

"No," said Rosalie. "No one will find us here, unless they know where to look. We'll be warm enough with the furs," she said, "and I'll sleep in the middle, to keep him calm."

"But…"

"Go," said Rosalie, with a sternness reserved only for mothers. Her long, slender finger pointed Bella towards the right side of the alcove and though she dreaded it— dreaded causing that child any more fear— she went with lagging feet.

It wasn't a minute before Bella saw the orange glow go out, and she felt Rosalie's warm, solid weight next to her in the bed. In the dim glow filtering through the vines, Bella saw her wrap her arms around the boy, who pressed his face deep into the crook of her neck. The bruise was invisible in the dark— indeed, almost all of Rosalie was invisible— and though it had been nothing but a shadow, barely a hint of blue on the underside of her milky jaw, it had been enough to make her stomach twist.

But she could give it no thought tonight. Troubled as she was, _scared_ as she was, Bella sunk deeply into the furs along the cave wall, pulling a particularly thick, fluffy pelt over her feet and legs. The air was hot from the lingering glow of the coals beneath their bed of sand, and she burrowed herself into the pillowy warmth, the fur tickling her nose and cheek.

She barely had time to bring her hands up to her face, brushing away the itch, before she was sound asleep.

 **A/N: Guest reviewer Nic Craft made me giggle when they asked about Rose last chapter. I hope this answers your question!**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The jungle was a sprawling, tangled web of distorienting groves. With leaden feet Bella trudged, hunched with strain and aching with tiredness as they moved, plodding through the thick, tropical undergrowth, treacherous and hot. The world around her teemed with life. Flies, black and biting, nipped at her face and neck, raising red, itching welts on her skin. Frogs, thriving in the humid trees, danced on the trunks of trees. They shone in the gloom, green and crimson. As she walked, Bella saw their throats bubbling, their sticky feet peeling up from wet leaves, tongues darting out to sneak a bite from the veritable swarm of insects that seemed their constant companion. Spiders, large and ominous, dangled down from low-hanging branches, legs like twigs scintillating in the low light filtering through the canopy. Those spiders made Bella shudder— she had always hated insects, spiders most of all, but as deep into the wild as they were, she knew there were far greater dangers than wayward arachnids. They walked over moss and ferns, each step sending a musky perfume wafting to the sky as the flora was crushed underfoot, and Bella, lagging only slightly behind her guide, took care to place her steps away from the hidden crevices and holes that lurked beneath their feet, primed to turn an ankle.

Bella's feet ached with strain. Unused to such activity, especially in the hard-soled, wooden sandals she'd donned for the funeral service, each step panged and throbbed in protest. Her legs felt like jelly, so stiff and sore they were almost numb, and though the heavy pack on her back dug into her shoulders, Bella said nothing, and did not complain.

Rosalie walked ahead of her, her eyes raking the trees for any signs of trouble. Bella was grateful for the silence— at Rosalie's urging, they did not converse, listening carefully for signs of danger. Bella's blood ran cold when she thought of those pursuing men— those men whose aim Bella did not know— and it ran even colder when she considered the quiet, almost silent padding of paws through the undergrowth, which would be their only signal of the menace of a great, wild cat.

They had set out before dawn. Rosalie, rousing Bella with apologetic greetings, had tidied up their camp with swift efficiency. Bella, drowsy with sleep, had helped her fold the furs, pushing pelt after pelt into a large, sewn sac of brown burlap, folding them small and compact until the sac was full, its bulk bulging threateningly against the carefully knotted rope at the mouth. Rosalie had not asked her to take it— indeed, Bella had seen how she had begun to sling the furs, the food, and her child onto her slender frame, but Bella could not, in good conscience, let her new companion be thusly burdened.

And so, with quaking arms that ached with strain, Bella had hefted the heavy sac of furs onto her back, taking care to keep her bruised and swollen wrist out of the struggle.

They had erased all signs of their stay in the small cave. The remnants of their fire— nothing more than hot, black ash staining the sandy floor, had been shovelled and tossed into the small stream that trickled down the hill. Their footprints, soft and clear in the fine, dusty sand, had been erased. The vines, which had been expertly hung by Rosalie's deft fingers when she'd arrived two days prior, were torn down and tossed, and any remnants of food that could not be salvaged was thrown to the birds, who swooped greedily from their treetop perches to squabble over the prizes for their nests. Bella had watched, squinting through the inky, predawn blackness, as two large, dark, feathered creatures squawked and nipped, each chasing the other before the victor made off with a meatless rabbit bone clutched tightly in his beak. The vanquished had screamed his displeasure into the night, wings flapping and neck hunched, until Bella, following closely behind Rosalie, had strayed out of earshot.

The child, wide-eyed and frightened, had not spoken one word to Bella or his mother since their departure from the cave. He had broken his silence only once all day, whimpering a heartbreaking protest when Rosalie had carried him, sleepy and tousled, into the wild.

" _Dark!"_ was what he'd said, his voice a tiny squeak. _"Dark, mummy!"_

Rosalie had said nothing in return, but had allowed him to cling to her like a monkey, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She'd tied a wrap around them, freeing her hands to carry the food, and there he had remained, unspeaking and trembling to this very minute.

The child watched her with an unnerving steadiness. Bella, making up the rear, had tried not to stare— already the child was too fearful, too wary, and she would not make matters worse— but it was difficult to keep her gaze down when she sensed those eyes on her, so clear and so wary. If she made a noise, he sniffled. If she stumbled over vines and leaves, he flinched. When she'd scowled, cursing to herself as her foot was soaked with stinking, tepid water from a dark, brackish puddle, he had gripped the back of Rosalie's tunic with white-knuckled worry. He was a quiet, pensive little thing, small though he was, and Bella wondered with unspoken curiosity just what had happened to make the poor thing so petrified of _her,_ who could never have harmed a child even if her own life had depended on it.

He didn't smile when Bella grinned at him. He didn't wave when she wiggled her fingers playfully at him. He didn't blink when she winked, and he didn't answer when she spoke, and only when his mother whispered to him, letting him down to walk a while every few hours, did he move at all.

He ate what was given to him. He drank, sipping carefully from Rosalie's water pouch when she held it to his lips. His feet, bare and filthy by midday, slipped over soft moss and grass with a trepidation that made him seem far older than his tender years, and Bella, try though she might, could not figure him out.

He regarded her with barely visible tolerance, and though Rosalie had said nothing more on the subject, Bella was careful to avoid upsetting the boy.

When the light began to wane again, the unseen sun dipping down to leave them in a haze of murky, grey mist, Rosalie came to a halt and sighed, glancing back at Bella.

"We must stop soon," she said softly. The trees, which had thickened and thinned at various points on their journey, had grown thick again, and they leaned against the trunk of a wide, tall palm. "It will not do to move in darkness."

"No," Bella agreed. They had not spoken a word all day. "No…"

"Come," she said quietly. The boy tightened his hold on her neck. "We've made good time today."

Bella, following meekly, did not complain when her aches and pains flared again. They walked, mindful of the slick algae that coated the stones beneath their feet, until they came across another alcove dug deep into a stone cliff face, its belly black and ominous against the white rock.

Rosalie glanced back at Bella, her face hard and pensive.

"This might do," she hedged, glancing up towards the west. A faint glow lit up the sky beyond the mountain cliff, though even through the thick canopy of leaves and branches, Bella knew the sky was overcast. "But I must check first…"

"Check?" Bella spoke quietly. "Check for what?"

"Animals," Rosalie said. "Or men."

The black maw seemed even darker as the sun retreated, and when Rosalie untied the child, setting him carefully on a stone seat, Bella was surprised to see her pull a long, roughly-hewn knife from her waistband.

"Stay with Bella," said Rosalie to the boy, who paled. "Mummy will be back very soon."

" _Dark!"_ The boy's whimper echoed in the gloom. Rosalie shushed him quickly. "No, mummy! Dark!"

"Hush…" Rosalie kissed him quickly. "Be a good boy and wait right here."

The boy eyed Bella with helpless terror.

"Dark!"

"I'll be back," said Rosalie. The boy pawed at her trousers, his little fists white and shaking. Rosalie turned to Bella, her face grim. "Don't let him scream."

Bella, glancing nervously at the terrified child, said nothing as Rosalie disentangled his grip from her clothes and smiled at him, waving him off with a little waggle of her fingers.

"Be quiet, Finn," she said gently. Bella filed the name away for later. "Be good."

"Dark!" The child's whisper wasn't much quieter than his squeals. "Dark, mummy!"

"The dark doesn't scare me," she said. "Wait here."

And before the child could protest further, she disappeared into the mouth of the cave leaving Bella, their packs, and the child alone in the burgeoning twilight. The boy stared after his mother in evident horror, and to Bella's dismay, she caught the glint of tears on his pale, soft cheeks.

"Hey…" The boy wheeled around to her, eyes wide and wet. "Don't cry."

Her voice was soft, as inviting as she could make it, but it had no effect on the child. Wiping his cheeks with the back of his fist, he brought his thumb to his mouth and chewed it roughly, his shoulders shuddering with suppressed emotion.

Bella sat on the cold, wet earth some ten feet from him, her fingers dug deeply in the dirt.

"Mummy will come back," Bella promised quietly. "She won't be long."

He gnawed nervously on his thumbnail.

"Do you want a biscuit?" she asked quickly. A glance in Rosalie's pack produced one of the hard, tacky, salty rations she'd choked down at noontime. The child said nothing, but shivered in the wind.

"Are you cold?" she queried.

Again, he remained still.

Bella scooted closer to him, ignoring the stiffening set of his spine and the increased wariness in his gaze. She smiled at him again, taking a careful bite from the biscuit. She choked down the nibble and offered the rest to him. Carefully, as if she might snap at him if he moved too quickly, he reached out to snatch it from her, stuffing the entire thing into his mouth and chewing, crumbs falling liberally to the ground.

Bella counted this as a small victory.

"Safe," said Rosalie's voice, making both Bella and the boy jump. Rosalie grinned when the child beamed up at her, face messy with tears and biscuit, and held up his arms to be held.

She took him up at once, and Bella, dragging the fur pack behind her, followed Rosalie into the darkness of the cave.

This cave, unlike the one from the night before, was not a dry, sandy alcove in which a friendly fire flickered and glowed. The hollow was pitch black— so dark that Bella, despite her wide eyes and careful footsteps, could not make out even the slightest figure in the wide, damp hole. She felt Rosalie's fingers twining with hers, a wordless anchor in this unknown space, and Bella allowed herself to be led, wondering by what light Rosalie drew them further into the dark, away from the quickly vanishing light of the outside world.

Bella ran her fingers along the walls. Cold and slimy, she felt the dripping moisture that made its way in rivulets to the cold, stone floor. Rosalie led them down a bend, Bella's eyes scrambling to make sense of the change, stopping only when the floor began to dip down, and as suddenly as they'd started, they stopped, the rear cave wall not two feet before her.

"There is no creature here that calls this place home," said Rosalie. Bella, startled by her closeness, felt the long, warm fingers tighten on her own. "We will go undisturbed tonight, I think."

"How do you know?" Bella asked wonderingly. Blinking in the inky dark, she followed Rosalie's lead and lowered herself to the cave floor, reaching blindly for the furs at her back. The cave was cold, chilly and damp as the mist set in, and she wrapped one carefully around her shoulders. She wrapped the boy next, reaching her hands blindly to feel for him where he rested between the two women, and the child, unseeing and unknowing, did not shy away from her hands, which might have been his mother's, for all he knew.

"It does not smell of beasts," said Rosalie, "and there are no bones."

"Bones?"

"Cats eat meat, Bella," chuckled Rosalie. "They leave bones as a warning."

Bella felt surreptitiously around her, her fingers gliding wetly over stone. What Rosalie said was true— Bella did not smell the dank, meaty reek of rot, and there had not been so much as a stray pebble to trip her on their way down to the end of the cave.

"We will not be disturbed, I think," she said mildly. "Though there will be no fire tonight. There are no convenient vines to hide us, and I should not like to be found out by the men who pursue us."

Bella's lip disappeared between her teeth. Her legs, though glad for the reprieve from their endless walking, grew restless at the very thought. Where were those men, who had followed her so brazenly through the trees? What did they want with them, apart from the sport of chase?

The cave was silent for a long, pregnant pause. Bella, gathering her wits, fought to form the right questions and Rosalie, suddenly shy, offered no more.

"Who are they?" Bella asked softly. Reaching back down into the sac of furs, Bella rifled for one that would be big enough to keep her companion warm. "Where are they from?"

Rosalie was silent.

"What do they want?" Bella asked again. She found a suitable fur, thick, and long, and warm, and she handed it carefully to Rosalie.

Rosalie traded it for a hard biscuit and Bella, though her stomach rebelled at the thought of the salty, briny taste, brought a morsel to her lips.

Her stomach, growling with hunger pangs, thanked her for her troubles.

The cave was silent for a moment longer. Bella heard the sounds of the child eating— not the hard, tacky biscuit again, but the dried game meat Bella had nibbled at the day before, before her exhaustion had taken over and she'd been forced to sleep.

"They're hunters," said Rosalie slowly, breaking the silence. "Brutes and cowards, but hunters nonetheless."

Bella felt anxiety brewing in the pit of her stomach, but she did not show it. The darkness was complete now— the sun, what little of it could reach them so far in the trees, had dipped completely behind the wall of mountains, and even the faint, grey glow from the foggy jungle had disappeared from the mouth of the cave.

"I…" Bella heard a tension in Rosalie's voice, though she could not see her face. "They…"

Bella said nothing, listening hard.

"They're _evil_ men," she said quietly. The child, content enough to snuggle close to his mother, even in the dark, began to drowse. Bella could hear the soft, snoring breaths over the burgeoning drizzle outside. "Cruel and evil men…"

"Do you know them?" asked Bella. "Do they know _you?"_

"Yes," sighed Rosalie. "I know them, though not well, but they do not know me. Not really."

Bella frowned.

"They're looking for _me,"_ said Rosalie. Bella heard a new hardness in her voice. "They're looking for me, and my son."

"But they grabbed _me,"_ Bella said quietly. She could almost feel the man's hands on her, pulling and pinching. "They didn't hesitate."

"No, they wouldn't," sighed Rosalie angrily. "They are not good men, Bella. Not honourable. Though they do not _seek_ you, they would not hesitate to _take_ you, should they find you. Although…"

"What?"

Rosalie sighed.

"Tell me about you," she said quietly. "Enough about me. Where do you come from? Where are your people?"

And Bella, laughing, leaned back against the cave wall.

"Where do _I_ come from?" Bella chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," said Rosalie dryly. "Are you a farmer?"

"No."

"Fisher?"

"No."

" _Courtier?"_ teased Rosalie in a whisper.

"No!"

" _Royal jester?"_

"No!" Bella giggled. "Nothing of the sort!"

Rosalie laughed.

"What then?" she asked. "Healer? Weaver? Merchant?"

Bella, shaking her head in the dark, heaved a tired sigh.

"No," she said. "Not that…"

Rosalie went quiet.

"Your accent is strange," she said quietly, after a long moment of silence. Outside the cave, the rain began to fall heavily, echoing noisily in their hollow. "I noticed it the minute you spoke."

"Is it?" Bella felt self-conscious.

"And your clothes are fine."

"I…"

"Or, should I say, _were_ fine," Rosalie corrected. "They were filthy and torn, but I know good craftsmanship when I see it…"

"Where are _you—"_ Bella interrupted, her face suddenly hot, but she fell silent when Rosalie continued.

"... and even in the West, we've heard the stories."

Bella, blinking, felt her indignation die on her tongue.

 _In the West. In the West. In the West…_ we've _heard the stories._ Not _they've_ heard them. _We've_ heard them…

 _We. In the West._

Her heart hammered in her breast.

"Please say something," said Rosalie softly. The silence grew thick around them. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"What stories have you heard?" Bella asked quietly. She did not know just how dangerous the Westerners were, but with vivid recollection made even more colourful by the blackness in her eyes, Bella recalled the hideous sight of Samuelo, tumbling headlong down the path, his body riddled with arrows like pins in a cushion. They'd stuck him hard, and buried deep, and she remembered the white stillness of his face, the way his mouth had twisted in his final, gasping, painful cry…

She thought of Rosalie's knife— that long, hidden, silver blade— and recoiled in involuntary fear.

"Stories of _you,"_ said Rosalie softly. "Stories of your… origins."

"My origins?" Bella's throat was dry, but she dared not ask for water. "What origins?"

"Divine origins," said Rosalie, almost too quiet to be heard. "Godly origins."

"All lies," Bella croaked. She could feel her pulse in her throat. "All wrong…"

"So they say," she murmured. "The leaders— _my_ leaders— call it hogwash."

Bella said nothing.

"They call you a liar and your king, a fool," she continued. "They say the people are misled, and your Counsellors, captive…"

Bella bit her lip. She had no defense, no rebuttal to the claims of her divinity which she had, since the moment she'd woken, disputed with vehement opposition. She had only words, which felt like feeble protection in this place, with this stranger, but she used them nonetheless.

"I'm not divine," she said lamely. "Not even close."

Rosalie said nothing.

"I'm not… from here," she said carefully. "Not from the East, nor the West."

Rosalie grunted.

"Nonsense," she said softly. "Absolute nonsense, and yet…"

Bella waited.

"What else could have made the fire?" she asked. "We saw it, too, you know…"

 _The airplane. Falling. Screaming. Crying._

The boy, in his red t-shirt, his fingers slicked with blood.

Bella felt sick, as if she might vomit, but as quickly as her nausea rose, anger bristled sharply to drive it out.

"It nearly killed me," she said harshly. "That fall. That _fire._ And it _did_ kill the others on board."

"Others?"

"Who do you think we were burning in _Terosankta?"_ she asked angrily. "It wasn't villagers, or farmers. It was the _passengers!"_ The English word ran across her tongue like a barb. "Other people on the fiery thing," she clarified awkwardly, "who didn't live."

Rosalie said nothing.

"We were burning _them,"_ said Bella, dejected and furious. "We were burning the bodies, and when we were waiting for the smoke to clear— for the pyres to burn to dust— it was _your_ people who attacked and drove me into the trees…"

"They are not _my people,"_ Rosalie snapped, and for the first time, Bella thought she heard a lick of true anger in her voice. "We may be from the same land, but we are not of the same mould."

"They came with bows," Bella went on hotly. "And arrows. And great, metal swords… they attacked the King, they attacked the soldiers. They even attacked the Prince, though he's just a boy, and the healer, who hasn't hurt a soul in all his life without great duress…"

Rosalie made an impatient noise, but Bella went on.

"And I was knocked into the trees, and fell right off the path," she continued. "It's very narrow, you see, and I couldn't climb…"

Her wrist, still bruised and purple, smarted angrily at the reminder of her fall.

"And then, if you please, I find myself chased by lunatics in the jungle," she growled. "Maybe murderers, maybe _rapists,_ for all I know…"

The word made Rosalie hiss.

"And then I find you," she said. "You and your boy, who is so terrified of me— _me!_ — that he cannot even look me in the face!"

"He is…"

"And so I'll ask _you_ , this time," Bella grumbled, her mood black and sour, "and I beg for an honest answer. You know me now, as well as you can in this place, and so I ask you: Who are you, and where do you come from? For if you are from the West," her stomach flipped anxiously in her belly, "I've heard naught but warnings of great danger."

Bella wished she could see where the other woman had put that long, glinting blade.

Her chest heaved with emotion. Her heart, heavy and sore, throbbed painfully in her breast. Her tongue felt sharp and barbed, and she could not yet discern whether or not Rosalie was truly deserving of her ire, but that threatening word she'd spoken— _West—_ had drawn all manner of visions and fears from the recesses of her mind. The West had been an abstract and nebulous terror— a distant hypothetical that lingered only in tales and myth, untouchable by the safe bubble erected around her since she'd been discovered on the beach. The healer had kept her safe. Esme had kept her well. The King had tried his best to make her happy, and the Prince had tried bring her good company, and yet here she was, in the untamed wilds, with a woman from that nebulous _West_ , whose very presence in this dark, stygian cave was the most dangerous threat she had known yet.

"I…" Rosalie's voice broke, as if she had been crying, and Bella felt a pang of regret. "I am Rosalie," she said haltingly, "as you already know. And this is Finn, my boy."

Bella said nothing, her sniffle echoing off of the high, stone walls.

"We are from… the Camp," she said, and Bella, though she could not see her face, thought she could imagine the blotchy, red embarrassment on her cheeks. "The Home Camp, as it's known by us."

Bella remained silent.

"I was born there," Rosalie was quick to add. "Most of us were. My parents were poor, farmers who had nothing but arid, stony land to till, and they died before I could know them."

"I'm sorry…"

"I was raised in the Camp," she said. "Children without parents are always brought there, and I was no exception. Myself, and my brothers."

"Brothers?"

"Two," said Rosalie. "Twins. Older by about a year."

Bella nodded in acknowledgement, though Rosalie could not see.

"I don't know how it is where you're from, but in the Camp, girls only have two choices," she continued. "When you come of age, you can join the militia, or you can find a husband. You're a fighter or a breeder… nothing more, and no less."

Before Bella could protest, Rosalie went on.

"I chose the latter," she said. Her voice was small now, as if she were trying to whisper, but couldn't. "I chose to marry. I was never a doughty fighter…"

"You seem doughty enough to me," Bella said. "You…"

"I have no great skill," Rosalie replied. "No finesse in swordcraft. I never took to archery, and my form is awful."

Bella chewed her lip.

"I married high," said Rosalie. "My brothers arranged it, as is custom…"

Bella felt ill.

"My husband was the leader's son," she said gently. "His father, Bruno, was a formidable man. Strong, commanding— a true leader, in every way…"

Bella thought of King Edward, of the _true_ leadership she'd seen in him, and shuddered. Strong and commanding was his way, too, though Bella had a not-so-sneaking suspicion that the Western leader's aptitudes were more reliant on fear than love.

"He died from a scratch, if you'd believe it," Rosalie snorted. The child, Finn, began to snore, and Bella waited while she kissed his sleeping cheek. "He got it in the training yard— no one knows who really did it— but the wound festered, and he died in the night, not two weeks after the spar."

"His oldest son, Jamos, took over, as is custom. Much like your King Edward took over after his father perished."

Bella bit her tongue to keep quiet. Rosalie fell silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and Bella asked a hedging question in the interim.

"Did you marry him?" Bella asked. "This… Jamos? Is that why you left?"

"No," Rosalie barked a laugh. "No, I didn't marry Jamos. I married Rojce, the second brother."

Bella listened carefully.

"Bruno was cruel," said Rosalie simply, "but his sons are crueler. Bruno ruled by fear, but he was apt, and skilled. Jamos rules by fear alone— no skill, no reason, no order— and Rojce, well…"

The child shifted on her lap and Rosalie, shushing him gently, waited until he settled to speak again.

"He was a terrible husband and an even worse father, and I couldn't abide it any longer. His swordsmen call him _King,_ as if he had any power at all, and he ruled me as if I were nothing more than a kitchen maid. He wanted a pretty wife, for his brother has none at all, and he wants nothing more than to be his brother's superior. Once he got it— once he got _me—_ he became fixated on having a son. Every father wants a son— a daughter is just a liability— and once Rojce got his, he grew covetous."

"He wanted a _strong_ son," she spat angrily. "A _healthy_ son. Finn was born early— he was too small, and too thin— and he has always been _terrified_ of his father. Rojce asks too much of him… he is just three summers old!"

Bella could see, even in the short time she'd spent with her companions, that the child at Rosalie's hip was a gentle thing. Not a fighter, nor a bully, but a small, impressionable, and sensitive child who loved his mother with the entirety of his small, tender heart.

"He's struck me many times," continued Rosalie. "Oh, I dreamed of striking him back. Sometimes, I'd lay in bed beside him and imagine just how easy it would be to strike him _dead,"_ she hissed, "but he had _never_ laid a hand on my boy."

Bella stayed very still.

"So when he _did,_ " said Rosalie coldly, "I knew I had to make a choice. I could stay there, in that godforsaken house, where my husband would beat me and my child into oblivion, or I could flee into the wilds of the East to beg mercy from the fabled Eastern King, who my husband called weak. Rojce has no idea about true weakness, about the weakness of spirit to harm a child— his _own_ child— and to strike his wife, who carries his second child yet within."

And Bella, fighting to make sense of her final pronouncement, felt the weight of it settle on her at once, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"You're pregnant?" she stuttered, reaching out blindly in the dark. She found Rosalie's hand, worn and warm, on the cool, smooth stone.

Rosalie let her take it, and did not complain when Bella squeezed.

"Yes," she said, "though the Gods only know for how much longer."

"What?"

"Travel is not… _recommended,"_ she said softly. "Not when Finn came so early."

Rosalie brought their hands, joined together, to her middle. There Bella felt the telltale signs of burgeoning life— the skin pulled tight around her belly, still too small to be seen through her tunic, but beneath which ran a taut, hard globe.

Bella pulled away, feeling invasive and awkward.

"So there you have it," said Rosalie grimly. "That is my person and my purpose. I hope you find them satisfactory."

A cold shard of ice had entered her voice and Bella, abashed by her loss of temper, felt her cheeks redden in the dark. The rain, which was falling liberally, continued to drop, and a loud thunderclap rolled through the cave.

"I'm sorry," said Bella softly, "for…"

Rosalie sighed.

"Don't think on it," she said wearily. "It is no matter. We both have secrets to keep, and it is not wrong to be wary. I only pried for the sake of my son. I could not lead him into further danger… not when we're so close to safety."

"So those men…" Bella cleared her throat. "They're trying to…"

"To take me back, I assume," said Rosalie darkly, "although I can't be certain. I'm sure the raiding party that overtook Terosankta was part of the force sent to retrieve me. Rojce has good fighters in his retinue, and they know how to track."

"But…"

"I've been careful to cover my tracks," said Rosalie. "I only light fires when we have dire need. Three nights ago, my boy was almost blue with cold, and so I had no choice. The cave, luckily enough, was able to be hidden."

Bella felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, who snored softly on his mother's lap.

"He's terrified of being found," said Rosalie. "He hates the dark, and he worries about those men who chase us…"

"I've no doubt," Bella soothed gently. "He's just a child."

"But we will be safe soon," she said, "Gods willing."

Bella said nothing for a long breath.

"How far are we from the Capital?" Bella asked gently. "I do not know the way."

"That depends," said Rosalie, "on how we move."

"How we move?"

"As it stands now, I travel north," she said. "The shadow of the mountain is rough terrain, as you well know…"

"Yes."

"But it is our best bet to escape unnoticed," she continued. "The hunters do not believe I have the gumption to travel so, and so they look for me on the most direct paths. That's how they found _you."_

Bella grunted, displeased.

"What they wanted with you, I can only guess," she sighed. "They are vile men, and no doubt would have found some use for you."

Bella shuddered.

"When _I_ found you," she continued, "I was checking traps. I heard you shout, and I heard _them_ shout, and so I hid. Finn was safe— the cave was far, and well-hidden— and when I saw them chasing you, I knew I couldn't just _leave."_

"I'll thank you every day of my life for that," Bella said shakily. "I don't know what I'd have done otherwise…"

"It would do me no good to deny you," said Rosalie gently. "It is not our way."

Bella frowned, confused.

"Everything happens for a reason," said Rosalie, with a quiet confidence that gave Bella pause. "Everything. I was orphaned for a reason, I met Rojce for a reason. I have my son for a reason, and this unborn baby for another. I fled for a reason, and held camp in that particular cave for a reason, and I've no doubt… I met you for a reason, too."

Lightning flashed and Bella, startled by the brightness, caught sight of her companions in the brief illumination. Rosalie sat, just as Bella had imagined her, with her back curled protectively over her son, her fingers teasing his hair. She was not looking at Bella, but stared down at her sleeping boy, who rested fitfully in her lap.

"But to answer your first question, I believe it will take us some days to clear the trees," she said. "I want to go to the Miner's Cave… it is some miles north of us now, and there is a road there that leads to the Capital."

"How do you know all this?" Bella breathed. "If you're not from here?"

Rosalie laughed quietly, and Bella caught a glint of her golden hair in another flash of lightning.

"I'm _not_ from here," she conceded, "but nonetheless, we have maps. Greatly detailed maps, which I've had plenty of time and occasion to study. They are old, it's true, but the landscape remains unchanged."

"Is the road… open?" Bella felt cold and jumpy. "If the trees protect us here…"

"They would not dare strike there," said Rosalie. "Not even if they could see us going. Not in King Edward's very shadow, where his might and strength is at its height."

"They struck in Terosankta," said Bella doubtfully. "What's to stop them?"

"Terosankta, while sacred, is not well-guarded," she explained gently. "Even with the guards the King would have brought…"

"There were at least twenty," said Bella softly. "More than I've seen in one place."

Lightning flashed again, and Bella caught sight of Rosalie's wry grin.

"Armies are greater than twenty," she said, amused. "Much greater. And if the rumours are true, King Edward's army is greater than any that has come before it."

"I've not seen an army," said Bella dubiously.

"Nor would you," chuckled Rosalie. _"Why_ would you? But believe me… they are there. When we get to the Capital, you'll see."

Bella, frowning, hitched her shoulder up. For the moment, she had run out of questions, and the two women listened to the pattering of rain on the leaves outside.

"Once we reach the King's road," said Rosalie, breaking the silence, "we will be safe. We will have a long walk ahead, it's true, but we won't be in danger from hunters or militia."

Bella, clenching her eyes shut, said nothing.

"But for now," sighed Rosalie, "we should rest. We must move on tomorrow, as soon as this storm clears, though we might have no choice but to walk in the rain."

Bella grimaced.

"The cold will be your friend, once we start moving," said Rosalie. She reached past Bella, who had begun to shiver, and pulled out more furs from the sac. Bella heard, rather than saw, as she made a small, makeshift nest, laying herself and Finn in the warmth. Bella, curling her bare toes beneath her for warmth, added to the pile on Finn's other side, and together, they sandwiched the boy between them.

Bella lay awake for a long time, listening to the thunder and the rain, before she fell into a light, troubled sleep.

 **Pronunciation Guide:**

 **Jamos —** YAH-mose  
 **Rojce —** Royce

 **A/N: As always, let me know what you think!**

 **UPDATE: Many people are asking about what language Rose is speaking. Rose and Bella are both speaking Maronese, not English. Hope this helps.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: There is a slight language warning in place for this chapter. Nothing horrendous, but a little worse than usual.**

 **Chapter 24**

The Council chamber was still as a grave, the room awash with a roar of deafening, anxious silence. Around the long, teak table sat twelve bent heads, brows furrowed in consternation, eyes glued on the great seat at the head. Wine sat untouched. Soft, white breads and hard, yellow cheeses lay uneaten and unnoticed on platters lining the centre. Grey light filtered in through the high, narrow windows and a breeze ruffled the stillness every few moments when the wind picked up in the East, wafting in hot, sticky air from the castle grounds.

Edward sat unmoving. His Councillors, all grave and still, saw how his pallid face twisted and turned, running through a cycle of nervous energy and stormy anger. He wore his mood like a mask— they saw how his eyes darkened, his mouth set in a stiff, downturned line, before it gave way to nerves. His foot twitched beneath the table. His shoulders, slumped with some unknown burden, did not straighten. He wore a bandage on his arm, thick and white, and the affected hand, bruised and swollen, lay clawed on the tabletop, where he kept it still. It throbbed with each breath he took, and though he knew it would need to be stitched properly before the day was out, Edward tried to keep his mind away from it.

"My Lord," began Lorenzo softly, breaking the tense silence in the room. Eleven heads turned to him and the King, jolted from his daze, blinked hard. "I do apologize…"

Edward, brushing away his tiredness, met Lorenzo's gaze with hard, immovable fury.

"My Lord…" Lorenzo quailed under his anger. "My Lord, I _do_ apologize…"

"No need," Edward ground out, sitting up in his seat. "No need, Lorenzo…"

"Word has reached us of the attack," said another man, Hema, from his place at the end of the table. "Some of the soldiers spoke of it as we entered the hall."

"Yes," Edward said. "Yes, I figured as much. What they tell you is true. Our mourning party was ambushed at Terosankta, while we were in the midst of the Cleansing."

Murmurs rose like smoke from the group, threatening to overtake them, but Edward slapped his hand down on the tabletop and the noise died like the fire from a candle blown out by a puff of air.

"They say that many were killed," continued Hema bravely. "They say that…"

"Fifteen dead," said Edward softly. "Fifteen men, mostly young and untried. No civilians killed that we could tell. Most of the party had already made their way down the slopes back towards the Capital when the fighting broke out. About thirty assailants slain. One of our own castle guards, Samuelo, was felled in the fray."

Lorenzo, who was a permanent fixture in the castle and was friendly with most of the staff on site, bowed his head in silent prayer. Edward saw his lips move and gave him a moment of silence to complete the ritual before he continued.

"But the dead are not what drives us," said Edward gently. "The dead are gone, may the Gods keep them…"

"Peace be," said the men softly.

"I come to talk of the living," said Edward. "The living, who may yet need our help…"

"Of which living do you speak, My Lord?" asked Hema gently. "Do you mean the homesteads on the Western edge of our lands? Is there a danger to them?"

"No," said Edward quickly. "No, not any more than usual…"

"Perhaps soldiers, then?" asked another man, Toro. "If fifteen of our men were felled, it is right to discuss further training options. Young, untried soldiers should, perhaps, be tutored by a more senior fighter…"

"There was no risk!" said Lorenzo quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. "No risk, we thought! This was not an offensive mission, what these men— these _boys_ — were doing!"

"No, I agree," said Toro quickly, "but they _were_ charged with guarding the King, and that is no mean task. Perhaps we should issue an edict requiring that Kingsguards, even the ceremonial ones, must be more senior?"

"How will our men gain experience if we do not give them opportunities to grow?" asked the tallest, broadest Councilman called Corman. "Guarding the King on a low-risk mission to the sacred lands is an excellent way to train them. They were serving under Samuelo, and Samuelo served under Emmett! What greater warrior can our nation boast than Emmett? You must remember his father, Toro, and what a marvellous fighter he was. His son is his image in every way! A credit to the family, and a great leader for our fighting force."

A rumble of approval went around the table, but Edward, worried that the men would lose sight of their goal, shook his head.

"Emmett did very well," said Edward swiftly. _"Very_ well indeed… he deserves your highest praise, but he is not the one who needs our aid."

"Then who, My Lord?" asked Lorenzo in amazement. "Was the Healer hurt?"

"No…"

"The Prince?" asked Toro, turning to face Jasper, who was hunched in the shadows. The Council worried about Jasper— he was heir apparent to the throne, and no one liked to think of what might happen if both King and Prince perished before Edward had children of his own. Jasper shook his head vehemently as Edward spoke, refuting this as well.

"Your Prince fought bravely," said Edward earnestly. "He fought well, though he, too, is untrained, and he was able to keep himself safe in the fray."

Hema and Corman, grinning, knocked their goblets on the table in congratulations. They raised their cups to Jasper, and each drank a mouthful of wine.

"No," said Edward. "No, it is…"

"Surely not the Lady Esme?" asked Lorenzo. His face was white with shock, his eyes bright and appalled. "Surely not _she?"_

"Esme is well," said Edward, "but…"

The table erupted in murmurs.

Edward saw, with exhausted frustration, that his point was not being heard. The men at the table rumbled with suggestions and concern, tossing ideas for soldier training, western defenses, and proactive military movements to prevent further attack, when Mihaelo, who had thus far been silent and still, rose from his seat.

"Forgive me, My Lord…" Mihaelo said in his smooth, saccharine voice. All eyes snapped to him. Edward saw Jasper's head whip around to stare. Edward could not see his face, but he could see the tension in his arms, and how his hands twisted the hem of his tunic in tight, hard fists.

Mihaelo, glancing haughtily around the table, raised a sarcastic eyebrow. Edward waited, unspeaking.

"But which _living_ are you referring to?" he asked quietly. "You speak of aid, and yet we, your humble Councillors, do not know of whom you speak."

"Yes," said Edward quickly. The Council listened raptly. "Yes, Mihaelo, you're right…"

"Then tell us, Lord!" urged Mihaelo at once. The table rumbled its assent, but Edward, staring suspiciously at the man before him, thought he caught a glint of mocking sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm talking about one of our own who needs our help," Edward said seriously. "One of our own who is…"

"Please, My King," interrupted Mihaelo, "but pray, tell. Who are you calling _one of_ _our own?_ Surely not the…"

He trailed off, laughing darkly with disbelief, and Edward sensed a wall of resistance, though the fatal words had not yet passed his lips. At the sight of this stony-faced, belligerent obstinance, Edward felt his resolve grow hard and icy. Mihaelo, though he had not been told, knew _exactly_ of whom Edward spoke, and Edward knew, with absolute certainty, that Mihaelo, as always, would push, and shout, and protest in a vain attempt to stop Edward's mission.

"If I may _speak,_ Mihaelo, then you would know…"

"I _do_ beg your pardon," said Mihaelo curtly, "but I must ask. Are you talking of the woman?"

A murmur went around the table.

"The _Lady_ ," said Edward coldly, "is under _my_ care."

Mihaelo inclined his head with a tilted nod, and let out a long breath before he spoke again.

"Forgive me," he repeated, "but where exactly _is_ the _Lady?_ She did not return with the men…"

"She is missing," said Edward. A pang of anxiety— of pure, unadulterated worry for his charge— struck him hard. She was _his_ responsibility, and _he_ had failed her… "Fled into the jungle. I have summoned this Council to inform you of the curfew, which is effective at sundown tonight, and of my efforts to return her unharmed."

"Missing, My Lord?" Lorenzo asked in amazement. "Missing? Our own Lady?"

" _Missing,_ indeed…" rebutted Mihaelo in a slick, oily voice. " _Our Lady,"_ he mocked the words, "is hardly _missing._ But she has been, perhaps, _found?"_

The table, still rumbling, turned to him in confusion. Edward bit his tongue, listening sourly.

"I spoke to the men, My Lord," said Mihaelo smoothly. "I had already risen when you returned to the castle in the wee hours."

Edward stared at him.

"And she may not be _our Lady,_ at all, Lorenzo," said Mihaelo to his rival. Edward gritted his teeth. His temper, already sharp and barbed from lack of sleep, turned cutting, and he fought to rein it in.

"I expect you're talking of my prisoners," said Edward shortly. "Although I do not know by what authority you question my soldiers?"

"Not questioning, my Lord!" cried Mihaelo in a voice full of insincere solemnity. "Never that! Mere conversation is all… and what a conversation it was!"

The table rumbled with displeasure.

"Is it true," began Mihaelo, "that these _men,_ these _prisoners,_ do not speak Maronese?"

Edward said nothing, his face hard and blank. Mihaelo, smiling grimly with satisfaction, understood the silence as an affirmative.

"And is it not also true that the tongue they speak is the same as _your Lady?"_ He spat the final two words at Edward with scorn. "Tell me, _my great Lord_ , how we can be sure she has not simply gone home to her masters in the West?"

The table erupted at once. Lorenzo, Edward's fiercest and most loyal supporter in the Council, rounded on Mihaelo with disgusted contempt. Hema, a stalwart, steady man, closed his eyes with a tired slump. Ramos, a burly lumberman who oversaw the manning of the Southern Watchtower, rose from his seat and shouted, cursing Mihaelo to the black bowels of Hell for such impudence. Nelsor— kind, wise, elderly Nelsor— slammed his walking stick against the stone floor in protest, what few teeth he had left bared in displeasure.

"You insult me," Edward said plainly, his voice low with disgust. The table fell silent at once. "You insult me, you insult your Prince, you insult your Healer, this Council, and your late Queen's sister, with such nonsensical accusations."

"Nonsensical?" demanded Mihaelo, unmoved by this rebuke. "The woman is a complete mystery!" he cried. "A complete, utter, unsolvable mystery! Who are we to say she is not a spy, sent from the West to gain our secrets?"

The table shouted again.

"She is a slave!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the din. "A slave to the West! She is a _traitor_!"

"You would call a daughter of the Gods a traitor!?" bellowed Ramos angrily. "You, who insult your King at every turn?"

"That _woman_ is _not…"_

Mihaelo could not finish his sentence before the noise rose again. Ramos, a firm believer in Bella's divinity, bellowed a curse so abominable that the soldier near the door stepped into view, his hand on his sword as if he sensed impending violence. Hema, who had barely spoken at any other Council meeting, bid Mihaelo to sit and silence himself. Nelsor, whose voice cracked in the din, could not be heard, and he resorted once again to banging his stick on the stony floor, his rheumy fists clenched tight about the wood.

Edward, shoving himself up from his seat, banged his uninjured fist down on the hard, wooden tabletop. The vibrations reverberated down the length of the table and one by one, all eyes returned to him.

"Silence!" he snapped and at once, the men stilled. Mihaelo, raising an eyebrow in apparent amusement at Edward's black mood, cocked his head in sarcastic questioning.

"You will _not,"_ Edward snapped, "insult _my_ guests in _my_ home. You willnot…"

"I will _not_ be silenced for the sake of that _woman_!" spat Mihaelo at once. "I will not be bullied! It is my right, as a member of this Council, to point out that which is obvious to all but _you,_ my Lord, who has been blinded by beauty, no doubt!"

Nelsor, unable to stop himself, slammed his cane against the table.

"Fool!" he croaked. "You mad, jealous fool!"

Mihaelo rounded on him at once.

"A harlot beguiles a King— _our_ King! _—_ and we are expected to sit silently and do nothing?"

"Harlot!?" Ramos bellowed with savage rage. "The only harlot here is you, Mihaelo! Like father, like son! Your father was a whore, begging for scraps of attention at the late King's table, and _you_ are a whore, spreading your legs to keep what little power you yet hold!"

"Whore!? You dare call me a _whore_ , bastard!?" Mihaelo wheeled around to Ramos with red-hot fury. "How _dare_ you speak to me in that manner! _You_ , a simple _woodcutter_ , who wouldn't know a real whore if she knelt before you with your cock in her mouth!"

At this insult Ramos rose angrily, lunged over the table, and slammed his fist into Mihaelo's jaw, sending the smaller man sprawling.

Shouting nonsensically with rage, Mihaelo was halfway across the table, his fist scrabbling for the hilt of his blade, before the young soldier by the door had the good sense to yank him back. He bellowed like a wounded beast, his eyes bulging and his face purple with rage.

But Edward, beyond irritation, bared his teeth in angry rebuttal.

"Hold your tongue or you will be thrown out," he spat. "And I _mean_ it this time."

Mihaelo's cheeks paled, and though Edward could see the pride it cost him, he stood shaking, but unrelenting.

"I am an appointed member of this Council," said Mihaelo darkly. "I cannot be _removed_ by the will of oneman, even one so _high and mighty_ as _you."_

The italics, spat in dark, threatening tones, made Edward bristle, and he narrowed his eyes.

"This Council exists at the discretion of the _King!"_ Edward snapped. _"Not_ at the discretion of its members!"

"The Council is the voice of the people!" shouted Mihaelo. _"Your_ people, whose voices _must_ be heard even though _you_ seem to forget it! You would risk their safety— the safety of every man, woman, and child on this island— and for what? For a chance to make that bitch your bedmate? If it's a whore you seek, My Lord, there are ample stores in your own backyard. I'd be _happy_ to help you find one."

He gestured crudely towards the city, which yet slept in the morning dawn.

"She should be sent back!" shouted Mihaelo. His eyes, still wild with fury, razed over the table in a feeble plea for support. He found none. "She should be sent back, her tail between her legs, to the West, to let her masters know that we are not so easily fooled!"

"We do not cast out innocents!" said Lorenzo, appalled. "We do not banish our women to exile in the _wilds_ , even if they've been tried and convicted!"

"Perhaps we should!" Mihaelo shouted. "Perhaps we should! Laws can change, Lorenzo, and we have the power to make it happen! And that woman— that _harlot,_ " he spat the word at Ramos, "is not one of _our women._ She is an outsider! An outsider with no rightful claim to our lands, our resources, or our hospitality!"

"You are _NOT_ a lawmaker!" Edward bellowed. He was beyond anger now, beyond irritation and dismay, and this time, he rose threateningly from his seat. Mihaelo had gone too far— had overstepped himself in his treatment of his King and his King's honoured guest— and Edward's loss of control showed plainly on his face. He did not have the energy to hide it, to keep his placid mask of coolness and calm in place in the face of such blatant insolence, and as he glared down at the man, he wondered how he could have ever worried over his appeasement. This man had shown his true colours today— Edward saw Mihaelo, now, for who he really was, and the truth of him was as black and ugly as everyone had said.

"I have been in this post longer than you've been _alive!"_ snarled Mihaelo. "As long as your _father_ ever was! I was advising the King when you were nothing but a seedin your father's loins, boy, and I will _not_ be set aside by a child playing house with his daddy's sword!"

"Get out," Edward growled, his eyes flashing with warning. "Get out, Mihaelo, and do not show your face here again."

" _WEAK!"_ bellowed Mihaelo wickedly. "You are _weak_ , and you will bring this entire island to ruin with your folly!"

The words rang like a bell through the cavernous room, which had gone silent. Edward could see Jasper's face now, upturned and white with shock, and as Edward stared into the wide-eyed, consternated faces of the eleven remaining Councillors, he felt his icy anger harden to steel in his chest.

"Get out!" he shouted savagely, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. "Get your filthy words and hateful speech out of my halls!"

Mihaelo's eyes bulged. He shook where he stood, and Edward could see a vein pulsing in his neck.

"That woman will be the death of us!" he raged, snatching his cloak from his chair. The soldier by the door, frowning disgustedly, grabbed him by the shoulder. "That bitch will be the death of _you!_ You mark my words, _your Grace_ , that woman is poison, and if you've all got any sense at all, you'll let her rot in that jungle where she belongs!"

"Get out!" bellowed Edward again. "Get out, and don't _ever_ darken my doorstep again!"

Mihaelo slammed the door behind him and Edward stood, incensed and furious, his fist clenched on the table and his injured hand, weak though it was, wrapped around the hilt of his father's sword.

The room was quiet for several, long breaths. Edward's anger, still hot even when he heard Mihaelo's noisy exit from the castle, made his heart pound noisily in his ears. Doors slammed, boots stomped, and when the wide, wooden castle doors were opened for him, Edward heard Mihaelo shouting at his attendants, bidding them home with urgent haste.

The room was silent once again and the remaining eleven Councillors stared at Edward, expressions raging from savage pride to dumbstruck surprise. Edward stared down each of them in turn, pausing only on Lorenzo, whose mouth gaped like a fish out of water.

"My Lord…"

Edward's head snapped down to Nelsor, whose stick now rested quietly on the back of his chair.

"My Lord, the Lady…"

Edward fell back into his seat.

"Yes, the Lady," he said tiredly, his eyes clenched shut. "Yes. I will do whatever is needed to bring her back safe…"

"I trust you've sent out guards?"

"Of course." Edward rubbed a hand over his eyes, which felt gritty and sore. Pushing back his anger for now, Edward forced himself to be calm, and collected. "Of course. I've got fifty men canvassing the trail to Terosankta, and another fifty visiting farms and homesteads for news."

"And what of the prisoners, my Lord?" asked Ramos. "Where are they now?"

"In the dungeons, where they belong," said Edward quickly. Righteous anger pricked him again, tempered only by the memory of those traitorous men, huddled in a cool, dark cell far beneath the earth, held by thick, grey stone and black, rusted iron. "Emmett is taking them in hand."

The remaining men murmured approvingly. None looked towards the empty seat that Mihaelo had vacated, but Ramos, in the aftermath of his sudden fight, poured himself a generous cupful of wine. He took a long drag, staring speculatively at his King when he brought the goblet back to the table.

"For what it's worth," he said, wiping his red lips on the back of his hand, "I think you do right to seek the Lady."

Edward grunted.

"She is _not_ of the dark," he continued. "I know that as surely as I know my own name."

"But _how_ do we know," began Hema gently, "that she has not simply gone home?"

Edward, still prickly, bristled angrily.

"She is _not_ from the West," he snapped heatedly. "I said as much to Mihaelo, and I'll say it again to you…"

"No, My Lord…" Hema shook his head quickly. "No. You misunderstand me…"

Edward glared, his temper simmering.

"What if she has returned _home?"_ he asked again. "Not to the West, but back to the place from whence she came?"

"The Gods would not be so cruel," said Ramos quickly, shaking his head. "They would not give us a Goddess only to take her back in our very moment of need."

Toro, troubled, shook his head.

"There is no _proof_ she is of the Gods, Ramos," he said gently. "Only talk…"

"Where else could she have come from?" he demanded hotly. "If not the Gods, then where?"

"I don't know, my friend, but perhaps we were mistaken…"

"We were not mistaken," said Edward quietly. "She is not of the East, and I'm positive she is not of the West. She is not evil, as Mihaelo would have you think…"

"Not evil," said Toro easily, "never _evil…"_

"What are you suggesting, then, Toro?" demanded Corman angrily. "Either the girl is of the West, or she is of the Gods! There can be no other way!"

Toro pursed his lips, but Corman continued before he could speak.

"Either way, you call your King a liar," he said coldly.

"I do _not,"_ said Toro vehemently. "I would _never."_

Edward sighed, begging for patience.

"It matters not," said Edward, cutting off Corman's imminent rebuttal. "It matters not where she's from."

"But surely, My Lord…"

"No," Edward interrupted. "It matters _not."_

"But if she _has_ returned to her family…" said Toro dubiously. "With all due respect, My Lord…"

"She is not returned to her family," said Edward. "She _cannot_ return to her family. Her family is far off, and try though she might, she cannot rejoin them."

"But how do we know she is not mistaken?" asked Hema, his voice low and soft with desperation. "How do we know she has not simply found her people, who have taken her back and now rejoice at her safe return?"

From deep in the shadows, Edward saw his brother rise. Eyes fixed brightly on Edward, Jasper crept closer and closer until he stood at the very edge of the table, his shoulders squared and his jaw set with stubborn determination.

"Because I _saw_ her," said Jasper quietly, and Hema, who had not noticed his approach, started and turned. "I _saw_ her, Hema, when she fell…"

"So we've been told," said Hema gently, "but my Prince…"

"I know what I saw," said Jasper simply. He stared at Edward, his eyes searching and cold. "I _know_ what I saw…"

"But…"

"Unless the West has learned to _fly,"_ said Jasper angrily, "then she is _exactly_ as my brother says."

"I know you saw _something,"_ said Toro placatingly, "but how can we be sure?"

"You weren't there!" Jasper's voice rose in consternation. "You didn't see! There's no _way_ she came from there, and even so…"

The men all watched him, and for what it was worth, Edward was proud of his brother's bravery. It was no mean feat to speak before the Council.

"She did not speak our language," said Jasper finally.

"Neither do the men…"

"Yes, they do," said Jasper quickly, his voice waspish and sullen. "They understand us just fine. They speak in the _other_ tongue to keep their own secrets safe."

"But how can we _know?"_ asked Toro again. "I understand your argument, my Prince, but…"

"Go and see for yourself!" said Jasper. "Go to the dungeons and see! Emmett's got them all in cells, and they understand _him_ just fine. One of them even said…"

Jasper told them just _where_ the prisoner had directed Emmett to go, and the Councilmen bristled at the brashness.

"I'm sure Emmett took that well," chuckled Ramos. Ramos had known Emmett's father well, and was more than familiar with Emmett's fiery temper.

Jasper blushed, but said nothing.

"The Lady is _not_ of the West," he said again. "I don't know _where_ she's from, but she _isn't_ from here."

The Councilmen were silent once again.

"I do not want it spread that the Lady is a spy," said Edward finally, when it appeared that there would be no more argument. "I do not want it spread that she is a secret infiltrator from the West, come to wreak havoc…"

Hema, looking abashed, bowed his head in apologetic agreement.

"I am sorry, My Lord, but I had to ask."

"Indeed you did," sighed Edward. "It is the duty of a good advisor to cover all possible angles, no matter how unsavoury."

No one spoke.

"But I want the word spread that she is missing," he continued. "I want my people to know that she is in danger. If she is seen, or if she is found, word must be sent to the castle at once."

The council murmured its assent.

"I'll put out an edict at midmorning," continued Edward. "The city gates will be locked."

Surprise rang out, clear and sudden.

"Locked, my Lord?" asked Hema, astonished. "For how long?"

"Until the danger is passed," said Edward easily, "and until the Lady is found. My citizens will move unmolested, as they always have, but I want to know who is coming and going from my city. The guards have orders to make note of any people who cross the threshold."

"I see…"

"And no one will be admitted after dark," said Edward sternly. "The gates have always been closed at sundown, but now they will be barred. Anyone wishing to enter must wait until sunrise."

"But my Lord…"

"No exceptions," said Edward, with a tone of finality that silenced any possible debate. "My people will be safe."

"And what of Mihaelo, my Lord?" asked Ramos quietly. "What about Mihaelo, who will surely run to tell stories?"

"If he chooses to slander," said Edward cooly, "then he will face the consequences. Slander is not legal under the King's Law, and well he knows it."

Ramos nodded grimly.

"He is a free man," said Edward quietly. "He may no longer be welcome at my Council table, but is not under arrest. There is no law against insulting your King."

The table bristled.

"But nevertheless, his advice is not sound," sighed Edward. "I cannot condone an advisor who refuses to _advise,_ but chooses instead to run wild with unfounded fears and prejudice."

Jasper, looking grimly satisfied, nodded encouragingly at his brother.

"So," Edward finished, reaching for his goblet. There was a mouthful of wine at the bottom, and he brought it to his lips.

The men copied him.

"If there are no further queries or concerns, go forth and tell the word," said Edward, drinking the red, heady spirit. "Tell the people of our curfew, and tell them of the missing Lady, who should be sought and found before she comes to harm."

Eleven goblets rose, and eleven goblets slammed to the table in unspoken approval.

They filed out, buzzing like bees in a hive.

* * *

Jasper sat silent, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Edward, with a face so still and sombre that Edward, gingerly unwrapping the bandage from his arm, paused, raising an eyebrow.

"You look troubled," said Edward roughly. "What's eating you?"

Jasper pursed his lips and looked down at the rug. Edward watched him for a moment longer, but saw nothing there, and so continued.

His arm, swollen and bruised, had finally stopped bleeding. Carlisle was on his way— the healer, who had been utterly insistent when they'd first arrived back at the castle by the light of the moon, had pushed for Edward's arm to be tended at once, though more grievously injured men lay in the infirmary, howling with pain and pale with sickness. They'd had to bring them home on the oxen carts, where just hours before, the bodies of the dead had lain. Edward was sure, though he had not stopped to check, that a bloody trail marked their way home, over hills and valleys, through forests and fields. Carlisle was concerned about the wound— concerned that the blade which had struck him, of unknown make and origin, might bring infection, which in turn, might do great harm.

But Edward had been hellbent on summoning his Council. He would not sit, still and patient, while Bella was lost, imperiled in the wild. He would not force his men to wait— not those injured, crying, bloodied men who'd done a great service to their King, who deserved the best possible care. He'd sent Carlisle away, bidding him do all he could to soothe the wounds of the injured, and Edward had gone, arm still throbbing with pain, to the Council chambers where he'd waited for a long, silent hour before his Councillors had arrived.

Jasper had been immovable. It was not unusual for a Prince to sit in on Council business— especially when that Prince was heir to the kingdom— but Jasper, yet a boy, was considered very young for such an honour. Edward himself had not begun sitting on Councils until he was sixteen summers old, steady and quick enough to bring meaningful contributions to the table.

His father had been a master speaker— a true politician, born and bred— and Edward, try though he might, had still not quite mastered the art of talk.

Edward peeled the bandage away from the wound with one final tug and glanced, with slight disgust, at the gaping, raw wound.

Jasper stepped up beside him, pale and nervous.

"Uncle should see to that," he said anxiously. "It looks bad."

"A scratch," said Edward again, though every nerve on his left side told another story. "Just a scratch, Jasper. Nothing to worry about."

Jasper bit his lip.

"Fetch me that water, would you?" asked Edward, nodding to the pot near the fire. Boiled water, Carlisle always said, was the only suitable thing to clean a wound. No one knew why it was so, but water that was boiled seemed cleaner and purer than water straight from the stream. Jasper, jumping at the chance to help, brought the pot over with both hands, resting it gently on Edward's desk.

The King's chambers, where they now reposed, were still strange to Edward. His father's rooms before, Edward had been reluctant to take up his place within, even once he'd been crowned and anointed as King of Marolando, Second of His Name. It felt wrong, somehow, to take his father's place, though he knew that this was exactly what he'd been born and bred to do. A Crown Prince's destiny was to take up his father's mantle, and Edward had done so with great approval from the people and the Council, though none of this was helpful when it had come time to sort through his father's personal things. Edward still felt prickly with shame when he thought of it— as if he had been prying, uninvited and unwanted, in his father's personal business.

Edward took the cloth resting on the pot's edge and soaked it, wringing the water onto the cut with a hiss. It flared like fire, spreading up and down his arm without mercy, until he dropped the cloth and Jasper, concerned, nudged the pot away.

"Wait for Uncle," he said softly. "Does it hurt badly?"

Edward grunted noncommittally.

"I've had worse," said Edward honestly. "Remember that wound the winter before last?"

Jasper, frowning, shrugged quietly. Edward knew that he _did_ remember. It had been the winter before his parents' death, and Edward, foolhardy and headstrong, had gone to the training yard with sharpened blades and only a thin mail shirt used for sparring.

The wound on his belly had made him ill, and it had been his mother's voice, shouting and railing, crying and loving, that had drawn him out of his stupor. For two days, Edward had slept in his bed at the other end of the castle, wild with fever, and for those two days the Kingdom had been in fear for his life. His mother had tended him endlessly, and in the end, only Carlisle's careful salves and tinctures had brought him back to health.

The scar— long, white, and ropey— was a lasting reminder of his folly.

Jasper bit his lip and hovered nervously at Edward's side, his eyes flickering between the wound, the water, and his brother's pale, pinched face.

"Is…"

Edward raised an eyebrow. Jasper, catching his eye, blushed and fell silent.

"Go on." Edward sat back in his seat. With the toe of his boot, he kicked a stool from under the desk, gesturing for Jasper to sit. He did so with careful slowness, bouncing his knees once he had.

"Is the Council always so… testy?" he asked quietly. "I mean, that was a lot of shouting…"

Edward chuckled.

"No," he said at once. "No, not so hostile. I've never dismissed a member before," he said wryly.

Jasper's head snapped up.

"He deserved it, Ed," he said angrily. "What he said? He's _wrong."_

"I know," said Edward gently. "I know, Jasper. He did wrong to speak so crudely."

"I'm glad Ramos punched him," grinned Jasper. In that strange, mercurial way of his, Edward saw his brother's anger melt to savage glee in an instant. "I thought I'd like to try it, but I've no doubt he'd have won."

"You shouldn't think on such things," Edward reproved softly. "It is not your place to strike _anyone,_ much less an elder…"

Jasper was unabashed.

"There was no harm, in the end," he said. "Ramos did it for me, and what a good shot it was!"

Edward forced back a grin at the boy's impudence, knowing it would do no good to indulge him. Jasper, without missing a beat, continued to speak.

"And I thought that whoring was illegal in the city," he said quickly. "I mean, I don't _know,_ but father always said…"

Shocked, Edward let out a loud, booming laugh. Jasper jumped in surprise, but shrugged shyly, his open, honest face alight with genuine curiosity.

"What do you know of whoring?" chuckled Edward. "You shouldn't know a thing about it! I'm sorry they brought it up today at all!"

"I _do_ know nothing, which is my point!" said Jasper. "Is it, or is it not, illegal?"

"Not entirely," said Edward softly, "though I understand why some might think so."

Jasper waited, eyes rapt.

"It's not illegal to… sell yourself," said Edward delicately. "What a woman does with her own body is her own business, and it is hardly the place for the Council's meddling."

"But?" prompted Jasper.

"But… there _is_ a law that forbids the willful spread of disease," said Edward. "And disease, which I'm sure you know, is very common among women in that, uh… _profession."_

He tried to be as delicate as he could.

"Hm…" Jasper furrowed his brow. "But if she does _not_ have diseases, then…"

"Then she is free to do as she pleases," Edward said. "In the eyes of the law, at least. The courts of public opinion, however, might say otherwise. Barbed tongues and nasty neighbours can sometimes be more daunting than a court-ordered sanction. Once a man— or woman— passes through our courts, he or she is free to go. Public opinion has no such rules, and as thus, a bad reputation can cause social ruin, if one isn't careful. If people don't like you," Edward summed up, "they might not frequent your family's business or join their family to yours in marriage. It can mean poverty and ruin for such a family, especially if there are few sons to carry on the name."

Jasper considered his brother for a moment, head cocked curiously.

"Do you often discuss these matters at Council?" he asked. Edward nodded.

"Sometimes," he said. "Mostly we discuss the goings on of the day… I hear complaints from the various regions, and do my best to mitigate them."

"Complaints?" asked Jasper. "What complaints?"

Edward grinned.

"Well, as a more commonplace example, there was a complaint from the fisheries in the north last summer," said Edward. "Boats were in disrepair, but there had been no funds allocated in our budget for replacements or improvements."

Jasper listened.

"So, together with Nelsor, who is their elected representative, we rearranged our funds to give the fishermen twelve new boats. Fish are important to our health and our economy, and so, must be sustained."

"It's very interesting," admitted Jasper, his face alight. "I never knew Council could be so… entertaining."

Edward laughed again.

"It's usually not," he admitted. "On a regular day, everyone is very composed and polite."

Jasper grimaced.

"But I suppose now, it will be a mite _more_ interesting," he admitted. "Now that Mihaelo has been removed. The western half of the city will need to elect a new representative, and the Gods only know who it might be."

"Why?" asked Jasper. "Surely there are others?"

Edward glanced at him sharply.

"The western half of the city is richer than the east," explained Edward. "The merchants trade in the west, and there is often conflict there that goes unreported to the Council."

"How do you know about it, then?" asked Jasper at once. "If no one reports it?"

"I didn't say _no one_ reported it," said Edward dryly. "I said no one reports it to the _Council."_

"Why not?"

"Because to report an issue to the Council," said Edward, "would mean going through your region's representative."

"And that representative is…"

"Mihaelo," said Edward. "He is… or _was…_ a difficult man to get along with. His family is prominent among the wealthy, and I've received a number of reports that he has been… _less than willing_ to bring forward complaints from his riding."

"So…" Jasper's brow furrowed, "then…"

"Those in the west who fear Mihaelo and his influence have chosen to appeal to Lorenzo instead, who represents the East. This, strictly speaking is _not_ a complaint to the Council proper, but rather a well-sourced word-of-mouth story brought by Lorenzo to me in quiet moments in hallways and in the grounds."

"Is that legal?" asked Jasper quickly. "If Mihaelo is their elected official?"

"Any man, woman, or child in the realm has the right of appeal to any member of the Royal family or the Council," said Edward at once. "Even if that person does not _explicitly_ represent them. It is what made Mihaelo so angry with Lorenzo. Lorenzo is a kind man— he listens, and in my mind, he _wants_ to do right— and so he is not afraid to interfere with events in the West if it is right for the people who live there."

Jasper grinned.

"Could the people," he began, "appeal to _me?"_

"Yes," said Edward honestly. Shifting in his seat, he reached for the pitcher of ale on his desk. He poured himself a generous measure before hesitating, and after a moment of consideration, poured a smaller cup for Jasper.

The boy, while perhaps too young to get _drunk_ , was not a toddler. He accepted the cup with astonished relish, grimacing when it touched his tongue.

Edward laughed.

"The people may appeal to _any_ member of the family," said Edward easily. "They used to appeal to Mother all the time."

"I know, but…"

Edward raised a brow.

"But what?" he prompted. "Has someone come to you with a request?"

"No," Jasper shook his head, "but…"

Edward waited.

"Why would they come to _me?"_ he mumbled. He buried his face in his tankard again, grimacing. Edward stared, confused, before he spoke.

"Because you are the Prince," he said slowly. "The Crown Prince, at that, until I decide to find a wife."

Jasper reddened.

"But…"

"But what?" asked Edward again.

"But I've got no _power,"_ he drawled slowly. "I can't _do_ anything for them."

Edward sat back in his seat, astonished.

"You have _immense_ power, Jasper, though you don't seem to realize it," he replied. "You are a _Prince_ of this great land. That is not _nothing."_

"I know," Jasper sighed, "but what can I _do?_ I have no armies, no soldiers, no money…"

"You've got the ear of the King," said Edward gently. "Isn't that something?"

"I suppose."

"And once you're older," he continued, "you will be given duties and responsibilities to match your status."

His brother eyed him, speculative.

"What kinds of duties?" he asked. _"Real_ duties, or pretend ones?"

"Real," said Edward indulgently. "Real duties that _matter_. Duties that play to your strengths, and that bring you joy."

Jasper frowned at him.

"I do nothing _now,"_ he hedged carefully. "I've not got a single duty in all the world that means _anything_ to _anyone."_

"No, I suppose you don't," agreed Edward with a sigh. "But once you prove yourself steady and reliable, we will speak again."

This revelation made Jasper flush pink. Edward knew his brother well enough to understand that Jasper _knew_ how flighty he was, how headstrong. Edward also knew, or rather, _hoped_ , that this was merely a pitfall of youth— one that his brother would outgrow and overcome if given proper time and space.

"I don't _mean_ to be unreliable," said Jasper sulkily. "I just…"

"I understand." Edward's good hand, which rested on the tabletop, squeezed Jasper's, hard. "I understand. You're young, and still grieving…"

The boy's eyes flashed.

"But…"

Edward waited. Jasper, seeming to think on his words before he spoke, chose them carefully.

"But I _want_ to help _now,"_ he said slowly. "I want to help you find her, because I do not want her to be lost."

 _Bella,_ Edward thought. _He is talking about Bella…_

"I know you do," Edward soothed. "So do I. I want her found safe, and I've got many men out looking for her."

" _I_ could look," suggested Jasper suddenly, and Edward froze. "I know those jungles, and _I_ could go…"

"No," Edward said softly. "No, listen."

For the boy had opened his mouth to argue.

"I don't doubt you know the wilds," said Edward. "With all your exploring, I'd be surprised if you could not draw us a map of the entire jungle."

The boy grinned proudly.

"But you must understand… as Crown Prince, you cannot be put in significant danger."

"I'd be careful!"

"No," said Edward again. "No. But you _are_ right."

Jasper stared at him.

"You _should_ be able to help, if you want to." _Perhaps it would keep him out of trouble,_ Edward mused. "I'll see what I can do, and perhaps, if you are with a group, you might be able to accompany a search party on patrol."

The boy perked up, his face alight with eagerness.

"It'll take some time to organize," said Edward quickly, but the excitement did not die down. "It won't be today, at any rate… you and I are both grey with exhaustion, and not in our proper form."

"I'll find her," he said swiftly. "If anyone can, _I_ will."

That childish hubris— that sure, unmovable confidence— was enviable. Edward did not refute him, did not crush that dream of salvation, and so said nothing at all.

A knock on the door rang loud and Jasper jumped up to answer it. The ache in Edward's arm increased again when he turned to see, eying Carlisle with his medical pack and Esme, pale, but alert, at his shoulder.

"Gods above, Edward!" she gasped, shoving past her husband when she saw his unwrapped arm. "Gods, Edward, that needs more than a stitch!"

"I'm fine, Esme…"

But his aunt, stern-faced and worried, took his cheeks between her hands. Sighing heavily in defeat, Edward permitted her inventory of him. She pounced on him, pressing her hands to his head to check for fever, tilting his face to see his eyes, and pressing her fingers, soft and cool, to the pulse point on his throat.

"That will do, Esme," said Carlisle swiftly. Esme, moving quietly out of his way, hovered anxiously at Edward's side while Carlisle took up Jasper's abandoned seat, his eyes fixed on the wound.

"Not so bad as last time, eh?" he laughed gently, and Edward, despite himself, threw Jasper a knowing grin. The boy, put at ease by his Uncle's presence, winked back.

The smile was wiped from Edward's face in an instant when Carlisle, gripping the pink cloth from the water pot, began dabbing at the raw edges of the cut. He swore like a sailor and blushed, glancing apologetically at his aunt. It was not respectable to curse before such a woman, but he could not help it.

"No matter, Edward, no matter…" she murmured. "I've heard worse words from worse men, I assure you…"

His uncle opened his pack.

"It'll need a wash," said Carlisle grimly, "and stitches. You'll need to keep it wrapped for at least a week."

"A week!?" Edward demanded, outraged. "I'll need to move, Carlisle… I can't be bedbound for a week!"

"I did not say _confined_ for a week, Edward," admonished Carlisle. "I said _wrapped."_

Edward scowled.

"I cannot be confined," he said again. "There is important business that needs tending. I must search…"

"You will _not,"_ said Carlisle sharply, his hands halting. "You must rest, Edward, or you risk infection."

"I can't…"

"You must," said Carlisle simply. "You cannot be gadding about the wilderness, sleeping rough, without medical supplies."

"Carlisle, you can't be serious…"

"I am completely serious," said his Uncle. At that moment, he poured a large measure of clear, stinging fluid over the wound and Edward, feeling his entire body flare in pain, bellowed like a wounded boar.

"If it becomes infected," said Carlisle, dabbing it gently with a cloth, "you could lose the arm entirely."

Edward stilled.

"It's only a scratch," he said, his voice small. "Just a scratch…"

"Aye," Carlisle said, "a scratch… but it has taken far less to fell able-bodied men before you."

Edward was speechless.

"You must delegate, if there are tasks to be done," said Carlisle gently. "You've got men aplenty… use them."

Jasper sat up straighter.

"She is gone, Carlisle, and I must…"

With a sudden anger that Edward rarely saw in his uncle, he slammed the empty bottle of alcohol down on the table. The remnants splashed out and marred the desk's stain, settling deep in the wood. His uncle stared at him with open irritation and Edward, wisely silent, bit his tongue.

"You will _not_ deprive this family of another child," he said lowly. "Not now. Not when we've already lost so many…"

Esme, frowning at Carlisle, bit her fingernails into Edward's good shoulder.

"Your parents are lost, and Bella is lost," he said. "We will _not_ lose you too. You may leave your bed, Edward, for you are not an invalid, but you may _not_ , under any circumstances, stray beyond the city walls. To do so would be unbearable folly, and such behaviour cannot be tolerated from a King."

Edward, feeling small and rebuked, continued to say nothing. His arm, throbbing with pain, felt tight as a bowstring.

"Please," Esme said, speaking only once her husband had gone silent. He turned away, rifling through his pack. "Please, listen to him, Edward."

Her tearful face made him pause.

"You've lost blood, you're exhausted… you're not thinking straight," she pleaded. "Rest, and recover. You are of no use to her if you're half-dead."

 _Of no use,_ Edward thought. Jasper continued to stare at him. _He was of no use to her…_

 _But perhaps,_ he thought, _there was someone else who could be._

As if he understood Edward's mind, Jasper grinned widely, his eyes aglow with anticipation.

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed hearing from Edward before we head back to Bella and Rose.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Warnings for language and violence in this chapter.**

 **Chapter 25**

Through a great rift in the sky itself, rain poured down in a torrential flood.

Bella's feet were blistered. Her hair was drenched. Her clothing stank with an animalistic musk, and her limbs, almost numb with cold, trembled in the foggy, soupy storm.

Rosalie walked ahead, her body blurred by the pelting rain. She led Bella along paths untravelled— over great, stony hills that ran for miles, and through steep, verdant valleys that felt more like cliffs than hills. Stormwater ran like streams from the sloped mountainside. It soaked her feet— her sandals, which had been submerged for nigh on two days, were beginning to fall apart, and just that morning she'd been forced to stop and retie them when the suede cord that held her left shoe in place had snapped right in two. They'd kept the broken piece— such things could be useful, according to Rosalie— but Bella's feet did not thank her. She tried to ignore the way the new knot dug into her ankle bone, but there was no hope for it— she was lucky to have shoes at all, and she could only pray they would last until her safe return to the capital.

For two long, tedious days, Bella had seen nothing but the jungle, the rain, and the back of Rosalie's lean, upright form. She had memorized her companion, had come to know her shape almost as closely as she knew her own. She had memorized the way her shoulders sloped, burdened by the weight of her child and the food. She knew the long, thin scar that ran the length of her right forearm— a relic from some untold story that Bella did not have the courage to pursue. She could recall, as easily as breathing, the many tints of her long, curly hair— the dull, brassy yellow when the sky was overcast, the light brown, muddy mess in rain, and the brilliant, faceted gold that shone like a beacon in the rare moments of sunshine, so dazzling that Bella, when she got too close, had to look away for fear of dizziness. She knew the way her feet moved, tip-toeing over rocks and grass with tentative, hedging steps, and the way her arms clutched protectively at her belly and her son— her two most precious, priceless blessings.

The child was watching her again, his eyes fixed ravenously on Bella's face. She was sure she looked a fright: her limp hair stuck to her face, her eyes were rimmed red from the tears that came whenever she brushed her blistered feet against a stone or branch, and she was cold— so blisteringly, haltingly cold— that she shook all over, her body one big, trembling mess.

But he stared at her fixedly, his big eyes taking in the sight of her as he had done for two days.

She wondered if he'd ever get used to her.

"We should stop," said Rosalie, coming to an abrupt halt not two feet away. Bella walked right into the back of her, snatching at her arm to keep her from falling forward, and mumbled a bleary, quiet apology.

"You're white as a sheet," said Rosalie worriedly. For her part, Rose looked well— her cheeks were pink, she did not shiver, and she seemed to possess an infinite energy which Bella could not match.

"I'm fine," said Bella at once, though the lie was easily sensed. Rosalie took careful inventory, glancing up and down Bella's pitiful, slumped form, before she reached out a hand and held it to her cheek.

"You're warm," she said worriedly.

"I'll be _fine,_ " Bella said again. "How much further?"

Rosalie did not answer, but pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, looking for all the world as if she would like to mother her, though she could not be much older than Bella herself.

Exasperated, Bella sighed.

"I'm just tired," she said, glancing carefully around. There was no sheltering cave here, not so far from the mountains proper, and their best hope lay in the shadow of a huge, towering tree with leaves like an awning, beneath which lay a scarce few feet of rainless turf.

"I know," said Rosalie gently, her tension melting away. "I know… we're all tired, and this infernal rain will be the _death_ of us…"

She scowled up at the sky as if a warning glance could keep it in check, but as if it sensed her ire and laughed, the rain poured all the harder.

"Come on," Rosalie grunted. The rain, which fell in a veritable sheet now, was deafeningly loud. The evening twilight was obscured in its darkness. "Come on, Bella… we should rest."

They made their way in a slow, careful procession. Bella, having no desire to fall, placed her feet exactly where Rosalie did, following in her footsteps as they picked their way up the steep, stony hill to rest beneath the mossy, dripping tree, where they huddled, fireless and half-drowned, wringing their hair into the dirt.

Rosalie watched Bella with concern, handing her some hard biscuit and a thick fur once she'd settled Finn against the tree.

Bella, feeling weak and stupid, swallowed the food without complaint.

"Are you feeling sick?" asked Rosalie nervously, squeezing her hair a second time. Finn wiggled uncomfortably on his fur, eying Bella's food. "Does your head ache?"

"No," Bella said at once, though the throb in her temples belied the truth. "No… I don't know."

Rosalie stared at her, unspeaking.

"I'm…" Bella scowled at herself, taking a bit of water. "I'm just _tired,_ is all. I'll be fine."

"You don't _look_ fine," she said dubiously. "Are you alright to continue on, or would you rather rest here for the night? I'd planned to look for better shelter, but in this deluge, this might be as good as it gets."

The spot they'd chosen, while out of reach of the rain, did nothing to keep them warm, and Bella shook her head.

"It's cold," she said softly. Finn began to dig his fingernails in the dirt. "It's _too_ cold for…"

"We'd manage," said Rosalie softly. "It's not so dangerous when we're three. When I was alone with Finn, trying to keep warm was a challenge, and your journey alone would have been a death sentence, but all three of us will be able to keep warm if we stay close together, and the furs are dry enough."

Bella grimaced.

"How far are we from the edge?" she asked. "Will we be out of the trees soon?"

"By nightfall, if we keep on as we have been," she said easily. "This piece of jungle isn't particularly large, and we've been moving north."

Bella nodded, though she knew very little about any of it.

"This strip of trees runs north to south," explained Rosalie. "Once we turn east, we'll find our way out easily enough."

"So why are we…?"

"We need to come out somewhere with people," said Rosalie quickly. "If we come out in open fields, we'll be at great risk."

"Risk?"

Rosalie tutted, frowning at her.

"There are dangers in these trees, as you well know," she said softly. "Dangers of all sorts. But those dangers become infinitely more threatening if we are travelling through open fields."

Bella shivered, her shoulders hunched.

"Will we clear the trees tonight?" she asked softly. "Before nightfall?"

"We'll reach the edge, I'm almost certain," Rosalie said again. Finn, who had begun to tug insistently on his mother's trousers, was soothed with a biscuit of his own. "But I think we'd be foolish to take on the fields tonight."

Bella, dismayed, shook her head.

"Why?" she asked. "The faster we get out, the better…"

"It's unfamiliar territory," said Rosalie. "For both of us. You've no experience in these lands, and I've got only a mental map to guide us."

"That map's guided us this far," Bella said, leaning back against the trunk. "I'm sure it would get us where we need to be."

"I've been travelling through the jungle my whole life," said Rosalie gently. "From a very young age, we're taught how to navigate..."

"Why?" Bella asked. Rosalie's eyes snapped to hers, surveying her with that sudden, harsh coldness that sometimes overtook her, but when she saw nothing there but honest curiosity, she relented.

"You're really not familiar with the ways of this Island, are you?" she asked. On any other tongue, this would have hurt Bella, but Rosalie spoke with such awe and disbelief that she knew it was not meant as an insult. Bella said nothing in return, simply offering a quiet, uncomfortable shrug, bringing the biscuit back to her lips.

"Navigation is essential, where I'm from," explained Rosalie. Bella did not miss the way she avoided the word _West,_ as if even here, in this jungle with Bella as her company, the word was rude and crass. "We must know how to navigate, in case we ever need to…"

When she paused, blushing lightly, Bella raised an eyebrow.

"To… _attack,"_ she said, her voice soft and awkward. "They want us all to know how to move through the jungle, in case we need to arm ourselves against the East."

Bella put the biscuit down on her lap, a sudden discomfort filling her belly. She had heard this before— had heard how cannily the Westerners navigated the wilds near the mountain pass— but to hear it so calmly and surely from the mouth of one who had actually _lived_ there made Bella nervous. She knew Rosalie was _not_ the enemy— not like those who had attacked the mourning party at Terosankta— but nevertheless, Bella wondered just how much violence Rosalie had seen during her time there.

Rosalie did not miss her sudden awkwardness, and huffed an harsh, angry breath.

"The point is," she snapped, "I know how to work my way through the jungle. I know how to read the trees, and I know how to find the cardinal directions."

Bella nodded.

"I'm _not_ so skilled in open terrain," she continued. "I'll be able to find East— that is easy enough— but I couldn't tell you where the easiest passage is, or where there might be a friendly farmer who would let us pass through his lands unmolested."

"Many of the people who came to the service were farmers…"

The farmers were some of Bella's biggest supporters, and though she hated being called _Goddess,_ she was not above using it to her advantage, if it would help her get back home.

Rosalie closed her eyes, her lips pursed.

"I'm sure they love _you,"_ grumbled Rosalie, sounding suddenly tired. "I'm sure they'd be _honoured_ to welcome you into their homes, if they think you're divine."

Rosalie, to Bella's relief, had scoffed just as readily at this claim as Bella had, which had only made Bella like her all the more.

"They'd take us in," said Bella. "They might even lend us horses, if they had any to spare. I'm sure I could promise reimbursement, though I can't be _sure…"_

"With what?" Rosalie asked doubtfully. "What do you have to offer in return for _horses_? Have you any idea what a horse might cost?"

"Plenty, I'm sure," laughed Bella, "but I've got plenty to offer. I've been overwhelmed with gifts since the moment I woke in that tower room."

Rosalie shook her head.

"All the apples in the world couldn't buy us horses," she said sadly. "And have no doubt— I'm positive they'd take you in for free, if they knew who you were, even if you could give them absolutely _nothing_ in return. But my son and I?"

Bella frowned at her.

"We'd be about as welcome as rats," she finished.

Finn had eaten his biscuit and was squishing water between his fingers from the lazily dripping leaves overhead. Rosalie caught up his hands to stop him, and the child pouted at her, his lip trembling.

"We're… _enemies,"_ she said softly. As she said it, she ran her hand gently over her child's hair, and Bella felt a pang of guilt. She had never considered how easily the people of Marolando had welcomed her into their land, into their homes and hearts. Bella was as strange to them as Rosalie was— arguably _more_ so— but on the whole, the people had taken to her. They were not suspicious, or hostile, or angry with her lack of knowledge. Instead, they'd welcomed her. They'd taught her the language, treated her to their customs and traditions, and had done everything in their power to make her safe, and happy, and comfortable.

They'd tried to give her a _home,_ though she'd fought viciously for what she'd left behind, and as she watched Rosalie tending her little son, she felt as wretched as a thief.

How could Bella have refused that which Rosalie had risked life and limb to have? Bella had been so eager to snub kindness— to throw away the generosity and selflessness of the Maronese people, who had given it freely. She had not been forced to flee. She had not been forced to run. She did not have a child with welts on his legs from his father's belt, or an unborn baby from a cruel and violent husband.

She had only love, and gentleness, and generosity, and in that moment, she would have given it all away to Rosalie and her child, if only she could get them out of this infernal jungle.

"You're not," said Bella at once, her stomach roiling unpleasantly. "You're not the enemy, Rosalie…"

"They'll not be so understanding, I think," she said. She spoke with no inflection, as if this pronouncement were a commonplace, acceptable thing, though Bella knew that those words must hurt her.

"They'll see the truth, once they get to know you," said Bella. "They took to me easily enough. I've not spoken to one unkind soul, save perhaps that surly councillor of Edward's."

Rosalie's head snapped up at once.

"You are very familiar," she said slowly, "to use his given name."

It was Bella's turn to blush.

"He's been very good to me," she admitted. "I think I confuse him."

"Is that so?" Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "Confused, indeed…"

"I'm sure I do," she said quickly. "I'm not familiar with your customs, and I do not always know how to treat him. Where I'm from, we don't have kings and castles, and the whole idea is very strange to me."

"It must be refreshing for one such as him to be treated like a regular person," said Rosalie. "If I were him, I don't think I could bear it— the bowing, the fussing, the _My Lord-ing_ and _Your Grace-ing…_ "

Bella chuckled.

"Perhaps you could, perhaps not," she sighed. "But it's no matter."

Rosalie took a long, deep pull from her water pouch.

"He is a fair man," said Bella earnestly. "A good, fair, thoughtful man. He will take your claim seriously, and I don't doubt that he will rule in your favour."

Rosalie, suddenly dark and serious, shrugged her shoulders.

" _He_ might," she agreed, "but that's no guarantee that his people will. That his _farmers_ will. That his merchants, and healers, and fishers will…"

Bella closed her eyes. She knew all too much about the court of public opinion, and though she longed to give Rosalie some peace of mind, she knew too little about the climate in the Maronese capital to offer judgment. In truth, Bella knew almost nothing at all, and as she sighed, leaning her head against the wood, she thought that if she ever made it back, she would take the time to get to know the people of the city.

"We will rest here a while," said Rosalie finally, intruding on Bella's sudden sleepiness. "It will do us no good to have you collapse of exhaustion before we reach our goal, and this is as good a place as any to stop. We'll not be easily seen from any distance, and in this rain, it would be a miracle if anyone spotted us at all."

Bella, nodding softly to herself, sat up straight.

"You go on," said Rosalie at once. "You go on and sleep. I'll take first watch."

She drew the blade from her waistband again— that long, sharp, crude weapon that made Bella so nervous, and sat it in the dirt at her feet, well within reach should it be needed. Bella, taking her cue, lowered herself down onto the sodden ground, resting her head on the depleted bag of furs.

"Wake me if you need anything," said Bella gently. "And don't keep watch for too long… you need rest, too."

"I'll wake you when I'm tired," promised Rosalie, "and not a second before."

Bella hid her grin.

"Go on," said Rosalie again. "Rest. We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow. I'd like to clear the treeline by daybreak, so we'll be up before cockcrow _again…_ "

"When we get to the Capital," grumbled Bella disconsolately, "I'm going to sleep until _noon."_

Rosalie laughed at her.

"Go to sleep," she said. "Close your eyes and rest. It won't be long before we're off again, and you'll regret it if you don't."

Bella, nodding obediently, cuddled further down into her small pile of furs. Staring out into the grey wall of rain, Bella watched her for an extended moment before her eyes grew too heavy and she lay, floating in the delicious space between waking and sleep, as the world grew soft around her.

The warmth of a little body, pressed luxuriously to her front, was the last thing she felt before she fell completely and deeply asleep.

* * *

A hand on her mouth, firm to the point of pain, was Bella's midnight siren and her eyes snapped open, blinking uselessly in the black, impermeable darkness. She squirmed and mumbled around the palm, which tightened reflexively around her.

"Shhh!" hissed Rosalie. Bella stilled, feeling her companion's breath on her cheek. Rosalie's face was next to hers, sandwiching the sleeping child between them, and though Bella could see absolutely nothing, she felt the tension in Rose's hand. Rosalie hissed almost inaudibly as Bella fell still, her breaths coming in heavy pants, and though she could not tell why she'd been woken so, Bella's stomach clenched with worry.

"Shh…" Rosalie spoke even softer this time. "Don't wake Finn."

The child, curled inexplicably against Bella's front, snuggled in closer, his warm, little head on Bella's arm.

Bella said nothing, trying to see into the dark.

The night was as black as coal. Above them, where trees must have swayed, Bella saw nothing but an infinite chasm of night. The clouds obscured the sky— there were no stars to light their way, and no moon to guide their path. Rain pattered down like little fairy feet on the earthen ground. She could smell the damp— that musky scent of rotting leaves churned by new rivers of water, of wet, stinking animal fur, and of her own filth, pungent and foul, combining to make her eyes water.

"Shh…" Rosalie released her mouth. "Shhh…"

She obeyed, as silent and still as the grave. The darkness was so complete that Bella, blinking furiously, could hardly tell whether her eyes were open or shut.

They sat, so unnaturally still and silent for such a long, tense moment, that Bella almost opened her mouth to speak.

But before she could, Finn turned over.

"Mama?"

"Shhh!" Bella heard the clap of Rosalie's hand on his mouth, the resounding squeal of shock and surprise that came from the boy echoing through the trees. He began to wiggle furiously against them, his feet scrabbling at the dirt and Bella's legs, and with a sudden chill that took all the breath from her, Bella heard a noise in the distance.

Snapping twigs. Hissing leaves. A quickening gait, growing closer, and closer…

And then, a light. One lone, flickering, fiery light about fifty feet away, brandishing wildly through the hellish night.

Figures loomed beyond that light. There were two— Bella could just make out their inky forms against the cloud of ebony— and they moved with particular slowness, pausing every now and again to search. They walked slowly, their torch bending low over suspect patches of leaves and dirt, and they scanned with purpose, as if they were looking for something.

The child saw it too. Bella knew he did. She caught his wide, frightened eyes in a dim pass from the torch, and he reached up for his mother, his lip between his teeth…

And when Rosalie turned to take him, to soothe him into desperate, painful silence, Bella saw with horror how the shining torch caught the glint from her blade, and the figures stopped dead.

Bella's stomach dropped to her feet.

"...you see that?" came a low, gravelly voice. "You see that, boss?"

"I see it," said a higher voice. A _much_ higher voice, that Bella recognized with a thrill of terror…

The men began to sprint.

"Go!" shouted Rosalie, her voice breaking as their safety fell away. Bella rose in a rush, scrambling away from the furs and the tree, and her blood ran cold at the sound of the hollering shouts behind her, angry and vicious.

"There she is!" bellowed the small man. "Get her, Bruno! Get her!"

"Go!" Rosalie screamed again. "Go, Bella! Run!"

Bella ran like she'd never run before.

The dancing light of the torch at her back made her dizzy. Shadows flickered and grew like spectres in the dark, only to fall into blackness again when she turned a corner or leaped ahead.

"Rose!" she shouted, her voice shrill and piercing. "Rosalie!"

"This way!" Bella heard Rosalie shout, and as she turned her head to the right, she caught a glint of that long, golden hair. Bella ran towards it, blind. Her blistered feet caught on vines and stones, and she felt the sores break open. Her chest burned with exertion as her heart hammered behind her ribs, so hard that she could feel her pulse in her cheeks. Her ears were awash with a deafening roar, her hands shaking like autumn leaves turned crisp and brown, but she forced herself on, putting as much distance between herself and those pounding, hammering feet at her back.

"Go!" Rosalie cried again, and Bella heard the telltale quaver of tears. Finn, beyond consolation, wailed in the dark. Bella followed the sound, the feeble light from the distant torch giving her just enough light to see, and before she knew it she'd crashed, head first, into Rosalie, knocking all three of them into the dirt.

She cried as she scrabbled, desperate to regain her footing. Rosalie grabbed her by the neck of her tunic and hauled her upright, her eyes flashing frantically in the dark.

"We need to lose them!" she whispered. The hiss pierced the night and the light grew brighter. "We must get away!"

"I see you, little doll!" cried the smaller man. Bella started violently at the sound and wheeled, staring blindly through the black trees. "I see you, little darling…"

"I've got a knife!" Rosalie bellowed angrily. "I've got a knife, you brute, and I'll strike you dead!"

Two sets of laughter— one from the direction of the light, the other to their left— made the child scream with terror.

"A pretty little bitch with her whining little pup!" chortled the small man, lurking unseen the bowels of the dark. Rosalie, stricken, took off at a run again, though her feet were slower now, uncertain. She looked frantically about them, glancing left and right with wild eyes, before she turned to Bella with an expression so fearful that Bella felt tears well up in her own eyes.

"Leave my son out of it!" she shouted, her voice carrying shrilly on the wind. "Leave my boy _alone!"_

She clutched the child reflexively to her breast.

The light grew nearer again, but Rosalie, squinting angrily towards the place from which the voice had rung, stayed just where she was.

Bella, unable to speak for fear, stayed close by her.

"Got her now, boss…" came the deeper voice— the larger man that had spoken so crassly when Bella had hidden in the undergrowth some days prior. Bella wheeled around at once, her eyes scanning that patch of light that glowed hazily from a hidden alcove, before that light went out altogether and they were left in that infernal darkness once more. Bella's eyes scanned uselessly for a glimpse of the towering, hulking man, but through she knew he must be near, she could make neither head nor tail of him.

He laughed at her from the trees, and Bella felt her limbs freeze stiff. She remembered the words he'd spoken— those uncivilized, angry missives Bella had stupidly assumed applied to _her._ She felt Rosalie shift at her back, her hand reaching down for the knife that would be worse than useless in the dark, and Bella heard the words in her head as if that foul, hateful man spoke them aloud again, their meaning now clear and chilling.

 _Intact._

 _Untouched._

 _Bitch._

 _Animal…_

In a sudden flurry of movement, Bella saw the outline of the thin, craggy man emerge swiftly from the shadows on Rosalie's right side. Rose wheeled herself around, her arms wrapped so tightly around the boy that his cries were muffled by her shoulder, all thoughts of her knife abandoned.

"You've been naughty, little girl," drawled the man. He stalked at Rose like a tiger at a deer, his eyes leering and his teeth bared. He looked like an animal— like a wild, untamed, dangerous beast that might snap its teeth to kill— and Bella did not miss the way he glared at Finn, his eyes as cold as ice.

"Get away from us!" Rosalie said, her voice surprisingly firm through her fear. "Go back to the West, where you belong, and leave us be…"

Both men laughed at them again, and before Bella could so much as _think_ of running, she saw the wiry, spindly form of the smaller man rush at Rosalie, his hands thrusting out to snatch the child away. Bella saw him fall— saw his little body strike the ground where he landed— before his mother became entangled in a bitter, savage fight, her blade drawn and clashing with her foe.

The child screeched an unholy noise— one that Bella had never heard before— as he struggled in the dirt. When the clouds cleared momentarily overhead, Bella caught a glimpse of him, staggering and limping, before he caught sight of Bella, and began toddling uncertainly towards her.

Bella, almost sobbing with relief, reached out her arms to him. He was still unsure of her, Bella knew it well, but now, in the midst of their ambush, she was a friendly face, and one he'd gladly take over the hateful sneers of the men who pursued them.

He barely made it three steps when Bella felt something large and heavy hit her like a truck. The larger man had lunged at her from the bushes, the full force of him sending them both sprawling in the dirt, and she saw the child reel away before the clouds covered the moon again, and Bella's face was forced into the mud. She choked, struggling against his grip, before she screamed, her cry echoing through the jungle like a mad, tolling bell.

He hit her, as she knew he would. His fists hammered blindly at her back, which was soaked with sweat and rain, and when she freed an arm, he caught it up and jerked it roughly back behind her. His breath was foul— Bella could feel his hot, moist exhales on her cheek and neck, and when he laid his whole weight down on her, she felt crushed, her breath lost in a painful _whoosh_ of air. His fingers yanked her hair, snapping her head back viciously, and she saw how he leered at her, his eyes bright with rage.

She heard Rosalie fighting. She heard the laughing taunts of the skinny man, and the sudden, fearful clash of steel on steel. She heard Rose yell out when a blow was landed, and the cries of _"Mama!"_ as the child scrambled into the trees…

With a renewed fury, Bella fought the man at her back. Kicking, screaming, scratching, and biting, Bella unleashed the full force of her rage on him, feeling flesh rending beneath her fingernails, and blood drawn between her teeth. She wormed her way onto her back, coming face-to-face with the foul creature on top of her, and she spat, a great, globule of spittle hitting the man square in the face. Her fractured wrist, which she was sure she'd rebroken, was all but forgotten as she brought the heavy, swollen limb down on his back and head. She dug her fingernails into his hair, thrust her knees into his ribs, and struck her foot at the junction between his legs. He howled when she struck, bringing his hand down to slap her face, but when his knees buckled and his back arched, she was able to wiggle herself free of him. Kicking him again— her foot hit ribs, this time— Bella escaped into the night, adrenaline coursing like ecstasy through her veins.

"Bella!" She heard Rosalie cry, and she slowed at once. "Bella!"

Shaking, Bella halted, wheeling around towards the clearing. She could see no forms in the dark— no telltale fire from a torch, no heralding swish of a dark, woolen cloak. There were no silver glints from blades, no flashes of gold from Rose's long, lovely hair, and only darkness— hard as concrete and black as pitch.

When a little body, cold and wet, slammed into knees, Bella quailed and yelped, falling to her backside in the dirt. Her cry rang clear, and she heard a renewed scrabbling from the nearby clearing.

" _Bella!"_ Rosalie's shout was desperate and frightened. _"Bella!"_

The child, trembling from head to toe, wrapped his legs around her waist like a monkey, his little fingernails digging into the bruised flesh of her shoulders and back. He wept openly, his filthy, tearstained face buried deep in Bella's collar, and she clutched him with a renewed vigour, peeling his head from her shoulder to see him properly.

"Finn!" she gasped. She could make him out roughly in the dark— his large, bright eyes reflecting the dim glow from the moon, which had reappeared once more. "Oh my God, sweetheart, are you alright?"

The child said nothing, trembling violently against her.

" _Bella!"_

"Are you alright, Finn?" Bella demanded anxiously. She ignored her own aches, which were beginning to bloom from muscles and bones. "Are you hurt?"

The child shook his head wildly, his hands reaching for her face.

" _Mama?"_ He whispered the word in her ear.

Bella felt her tears spill over.

"Mama's alright," she lied. "Mama's fine, honey. Your mama's coming…"

The boy wept into her chest and Bella, feeling winded and sore, forced herself to stand.

" _Bella!"_ Rosalie's voice rang out again, her voice high and terrified. _"Bella!"_

At the sound of her voice, the child writhed.

"Mama!" he screamed, his voice carrying through the trees. _"Mama!"_

" _Go, Bella! RUN!"_

And before Bella could make sense of anything at all, she heard the crashing, angry footsteps of a pursuer at her back. She held the child to her, crushed him to her breast, before she took off at a determined run. The child continued to shriek, his little body twisting violently in her arms as he cried for his mother, but Bella held him tight, trying to latch his legs around her waist.

"Hush, Finn!" she cried desperately. The child screamed unapologetically, beyond reason or consolation, and Bella could think of nothing better to say. He was jostled as they ran, his legs flopping uselessly against her.

"Mama!" he wailed again, and Bella heard the noise behind her grow louder. _"Mama!"_

She clapped her hand on his mouth to keep him quiet, but he bit down, hard, and Bella nearly dropped him as the sting ran down her wrist. She wrestled her hand from him with a sharp shake, and once he had let go, she felt the warm trickle of blood down her arm.

"MAMA!" The child writhed, hollering madly. "MAMA!"

"It's alright!" squealed Bella wildly. "It'll be alright!"

" _MAMA!"_

Birds flew up from the trees in an angry, tittering cloud…

… a cloud, Bella realized, that she could _see._

"Sun, Finn!" she gasped with sudden, almost giddy delight. "Look, baby! Sun!"

A wan, grey light grew in the east. A light so dull, it was almost invisible between the trees where she ran. A light that _would_ have been absolutely untouchable had it not been for the great, sprawling field that lay just beyond the next copse…

The footsteps behind her grew louder. Bella sprinted, as fast as her leaden, burdened legs could carry her, towards the gap. She saw the stone before she felt it— a great, sharp, grey thing, poking up rebelliously through the sodden, muddy undergrowth, before it caught her toe with a piercing pain and she was falling, the child tumbling from her grip. The hard, filthy ground met her without mercy and she cried out, watching the boy slide through the mud, before she felt a hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair in a tight, painful hold. The figure hauled her to her feet, holding her so tightly that she cried out.

Rosalie emerged from the trees, panting and bloodied, just in time to see her son disappear into the great, swaying field, and for Bella to feel the bite of a blade at her throat.

* * *

A tempest rolled over the castle like a tide across the shore, and as it roiled and flashed its malice in the West, the search for the Missing Lady went on.

A fissure in the sky had opened like a raw, seeping wound, making rain pelt down in buckets from the clouds above. Day and night, the lightning flared and the thunder boomed, its echo cracking in the mountains far in the distance. The noise tumbled down the valley like a stone, crashing into the walls of the city where it sent the people running, scurrying like mice into their homes and shops, where they remained hidden and dry in the unrelenting deluge. Reports of swollen rivers and flooded plains reached the city with messengers from the north, passing quietly through the city gates during daytime hours. Fishermen told of scattered bounty, of fishing spots purged of their plunder and tide pools washed clean of their haul. It would not take long for the fish market to falter and the grain supply to dwindle, and Edward knew, with a great, foreboding worry, that this sudden storm would eat into their emergency stores, if it did not let up soon.

He was trapped in the castle. At Carlisle's insistence, Edward had done little more than roam the grounds before the rain had come, and though he had daily news from his soldiers in the field, there was precious little for them to report.

It had been a week since the episode at the holy lands. A week since they'd fought, and a week since they'd won. A week since the bloodshed, when families had lost sons, and a week since Bella had gone, disappearing into the jungle like a ghost, and there'd been neither sight nor sound of her ever since.

Seven days ago, he'd been preparing his search. Seven days ago, he'd thrown his Council into turmoil. Seven days ago, he'd been given his orders of confinement. Six days ago, the rains had started, and five days ago, his brother— the Crown Prince of the island— had set out on his eager search for the Lady, which had yielded no result.

On the parchment on his desk, the likes of which he received daily, was written a short, pointed missive from his brother. The hand, which grew shakier the longer Jasper remained out of the city, was hasty and rushed. The parchment was curled with moisture— he'd dried it by the fire before he'd been able to read it— and as he looked it over again and again, he felt the cold, hard stone in his heart settle in a little deeper.

 _Ed,_

 _Nothing yet. Spoke to Western farmers, no sign of her. Reached the jungle today and sent ten men in to look. Will go in myself in the morning. No trail for Leah. Covered much ground this afternoon, will continue at daybreak tomorrow._

 _Best,_

 _Jas_

The parchment curled back into the tight, narrow scroll as Edward let it go. The other four, which told of interviews with farmers, petitions in the countryside, barnyard searches, and fruitless hound hunts, had told him more of the same.

Bella was gone, and there was not a soul in the world who knew where she was.

His aunt was a wreck. Hopeful and optimistic, Esme had been sure at the start of the week that she would be found safe— that the quiet search party of ten hardy soldiers that Edward had immediately dispatched to the Terosanktan Trail would find her hiding in the bushes, out of sight and hearing of enemy attackers. _Surely she would see the standards,_ Esme had thought, _and come out from her hiding place._ Surely she would know that the King's men were safe. She would see the red and gold as a haven— trusted men to whom she could run in her time of need, men who would protect her and guide her back to safety where her people waited, frantic for her safe return. Surely their night of searching would turn her up, and when it had not, surely the _second_ night would…

By the fourth night she was absolutely beside herself, unable to sleep, unable to _eat_ , until Carlisle had stepped in with a calming draught, which had put her up in bed for an entire day and night.

Grimacing angrily at the parchment on the desk, Edward glanced up at his uncle, who occupied the seat near the fire and was not looking at his nephew. Carlisle had not returned to his cabin in the woods— not when his wife was ill, and the girl missing— and he stared now, transfixed and troubled, into the glowing, writhing embers at the core of the hearth.

"Have you read this?" asked Edward. His voice cracked with disuse and Carlisle, startled, blinked up at him as if woken from a daze. His hair was dishevelled, standing wildly on end, and when he ran his fingers through it in a nervous display, Edward knew why.

"No," he said, standing. "No, I haven't… any news?"

"All the same," said Edward tiredly. "Nothing new."

Carlisle took the parchment and scanned it quickly, his brow furrowing when he laid it down gently on the desk again, his shoulders deflated.

"The longer this goes on, the more troubled I grow," he said needlessly. "It worries me that not a _thing_ has been seen."

Edward, saying nothing, nodded in silent agreement.

"The longer it takes," said Carlisle slowly, returning his attention to the fire, "the greater the chance that…"

"Don't," said Edward at once, feeling sick to his stomach. His arm flared with pain when the muscle flexed, and he bit back a hiss. "Don't say it, Carlisle."

His uncle grimaced.

"I'm sorry," he sighed tiredly. "Really, I am…"

"I _will_ find her," said Edward firmly. "She won't be lost forever…"

Carlisle looked at him shrewdly.

"Many others have been lost to the trees," he said softly, and Edward felt the words as keenly as a knife. "Many more able, and many more _prepared…"_

He saw her then, as he'd last seen her on the cliffs of Terosankta. Dressed in her black mourning gown— proper and serviceable for a Cleansing ceremony, but completely unsuited for sleeping rough in the jungle. Sandals on her feet— wooden-soled, thinly laced things that would last her ten minutes in the jungle's dampness. No hat to guard her from the sun, no cloak to keep her warm in the night. No food to keep her strong, and no weapon to defend her from men or beasts…

He shook his head to dispel the thought. It did him no good to imagine such things, and it only made him frustrated when he remembered that there was nothing in the world that _he_ could do about it.

"Perhaps Leah will get lucky tomorrow," said Edward softly. Edward had ordered Jasper to take the dog with him— Edward's greatest hunting dog, who could sniff out a deer from five miles away. He'd sifted through the castle laundry himself to find Bella's nightdress, and had given it to Jasper in a waxed, waterproof bag to use as a guide for Leah's keen, sensitive nose.

"The rain will make it difficult," said Carlisle grimly. Edward scowled. "Scents will be disturbed in the currents…"

He caught Edward's glance and fell silent at once.

"She's in there somewhere," said Edward lowly, "and so there _must_ be a trace somewhere. If anyone can find it, Leah can."

Carlisle, wise to Edward's upset, kept his thoughts to himself. With a herculean effort that not even Edward missed, Carlisle changed the subject.

"What news of the Council?" asked Carlisle. "Has the Western side elected a new representative?"

"Apparently so," said Edward cooly. Three afternoons prior, four days after his dismissal of Mihaelo, a crowd of fifteen merchants from the city's west end had descended upon the throne room, demanding an audience with the King. Edward, though his choice had been unyielding, had been forced to justify his decision to remove their man from his advisory Council, and it had not been without raised voices and angry demands.

It had not mattered to them that it was the King's prerogative to appoint Councillors at his whim and will. It had mattered not that Mihaelo, in all his hubris, had been disrespectful and demanding. It did not matter that Edward had given him chances, one after another, after another, but only that _their man_ had been shamed, had been tossed from the castle like a common beggar, and the merchants of the West had sought to make their King accountable for such a wretched, high-handed order.

Rich and snobbish. Those were the words Edward's father had used more than once to express his distaste for those western merchants who had more wealth than they needed, and more greed than was proper. Tax evasion, coin smuggling, labour violations, blackmail… such had always been the dirty underbelly of the merchant class, though neither Edward nor his father before him had ever been able to catch them at it.

Edward, feeling foolish and impatient, had only _just_ resisted the urge to dismiss them outright, and had entertained the barrage of outraged questions until they grew boorish and crude, and he'd been forced to put an end to it.

Lorenzo, as acting representative for the West until another could be appointed, had overseen the vote just two days prior, and to the abject outrage and anger of the merchants, it had been a man called Rohailo who'd been voted in. Edward had never met him, and did not recall the family name, but he'd received his new Councillor with as much grace and kindness as he could muster under the circumstances, which were less than ideal.

"It's a man from Market Street," said Edward. "Rohailo. His family are cobblers, and they are transplants to the West."

"Indeed?" Carlisle raised a sardonic brow. "I'm sure that pleased the peddlers…"

Edward stifled a grin, knowing very well that it would not do to chuckle at derogatory, if not _fitting_ , nicknames for his most troublesome citydwellers.

"I think not," he said, chuckling. "But it pleases _me,_ as he seems very willing and ready to serve."

"The Western side needs a good servant," said Carlisle seriously. "Corruption has held its reign too long, I think."

"Indeed," said Edward grimly. "So said my father, as well."

"Your father was a wise man," replied Carlisle. "Any advice he gave you, I'm sure is sound."

"He warned of dirty dealings among Mihaelo's people," returned Edward. "It's part of the reason, apart from his love for my mother, that made him refuse Mihaelo's sister."

"Which is a shame," sighed Carlisle, "because I've _met_ Mihaelo's sister. She's a kind, honest woman. Did you know she married a carpenter?"

"Oh?" Edward's curiosity piqued. "A carpenter?"

"Yes," laughed Carlisle. A dark humour turned up the corners of his mouth, and he sat back in his chair with a huff. "A carpenter of low rank and very little means, which has been the bane of her family for nigh on twenty years. She had the chance at a King, and she settled for a _tradesman_. It infuriates them to no end."

Edward, impatient, scoffed angrily.

"What matters is her happiness," he said sourly. "She could have had all the Kings in the world, and it would not have made her happy if she was destined for another _."_

"A daughter's happiness is of little consequence to a great family like Mihaelo's," said Carlisle gently. "What matters is her connections. They are an old family, remember, and so abide by some very old and unfortunate customs."

Edward frowned at him.

"Mihaelo has said it more than once, though not to _you,_ I expect… in their view, a son is a gift— a new man to continue on the family line. A daughter is naught but a drain— a pretty thing to be fed and clothed according to her station, until such a time when she can be married off to the highest bidder."

"Dowries have been outlawed for nearly twenty years," said Edward at once., "and I'd sooner see a goat with wings before I rescind _that_ law."

Carlisle laughed at him.

"Outlawed, yes," he agreed, "but unpracticed? I think not."

Edward frowned at him.

"Merchants are driven by coin," said Carlisle easily. "Not all of them, I'm sure, but a good percentage."

Edward listened.

"You're mad if you think they'd turn down an opportunity to make a profit," he said finally. "A man who can find his son a good, obedient wife while _also_ making himself a small fortune would be mad not to do it, according to them."

"You're _not_ a merchant," said Edward softly, "and I'd doubt you'd know anything about such things."

"My father was paid handsomely for your aunt," said Carlisle easily. "Dowries were common when we were married, and your own mother's match made Esme even more valuable in the eyes of our fathers."

Edward shook his head, disgusted.

"My father abolished dowries _because_ of my mother," he said at once. "My father's father would have asked for a fortune for my father's bride. Father didn't believe in such nonsense. He married my mother for her spirit, not her chattel."

Carlisle smiled indulgently at him, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

"Your father took no dowry," said Carlisle simply, "but that does not mean that no one else did."

Edward sighed.

"My father was eccentric," said Carlisle, "but he was _not_ immune to greed."

"Aunt Esme is worth more than _whatever_ your father got for her."

"Every cent of that dowry is her own," said Carlisle at once. "Every penny my father didn't spend, every jewel in that coffer, belongs to her."

"You're a good man," said Edward simply. "A good man with a kind heart…"

Carlisle brushed him off, shaking his head.

"But it's folly to think that everyone shares that view," he said softly. "A merchant man with all sons sees marriage as a fortune in the making. You would be wise to remember that, when you're dealing with those folk. They'd pay _very_ handsomely to put one of their daughters on your mother's throne."

"Nothing in my future spells marriage for _them_ ," said Edward at once. "I'd not marry any Mihaelo's daughters, even if he offered me a king's ransom."

Carlisle grinned at him.

"No, I don't think you would," he said quietly. "I think your heart is better set on something _much_ higher than a merchant's daughter. Not to mention the corruption you'd invite if you _did_ take one of them to bed…"

"I'd not risk it," said Edward at once, grimacing at the thought. "I'd not risk _anyone_ corrupting my throne with such greed or petty crime. _Especially_ not for a woman I don't love."

"Love is a strange thing," mused Carlisle quietly. His eyes were closed now, and Edward would have thought him asleep had his lips not moved. "It can strike us at the most inopportune times."

Edward frowned.

"I wouldn't know," he replied. "I've never had it."

"Indeed." Carlisle's eye peered at him speculatively. "So you might think."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, surprised. "'So I might think'?"

He grinned, shrugging dispassionately.

"Like I said… I think your sights are set on _higher_ things."

"What are you on about?"

His Uncle, with a sudden, maddening sparkle that made Edward suspicious, brushed him off with a wave of his hand. A silent battle of wills ensued— one that Edward knew he was destined to lose— but he fought nonetheless, staring Carlisle down with as much fervour as he could muster.

"Nothing," said his Uncle after a long pause. "I mean nothing by it. You're simply tired, is all…"

"I'm _not_ tired," retorted Edward boorishly, but his Uncle had gone quiet. "I'm… _worried._ "

"Worried," sighed Carlisle tiredly. "Aren't we all?"

Edward kept his mouth shut.

 _Worried_ was not the word.

Worried was what he felt before a speech. Worried was how he felt when his soldiers, training in the field, were knocked into the dirt from a stupid, defensible mistake. Worried was breaking his mother's favourite vase, or sneaking in after dark, or waiting, silent and still, for the weight of a crown on his head after the oil had anointed him King of the Realm.

Worried was for the commonplace. Worried was for _safety._

It was not _worry_ for Bella that made him so wild. It was not _worry_ that kept him up at night, wondering where on earth she could be. It was not worry that made him sick, that turned his dreams to ashy nightmares, that made his meals cold and his slumber fickle, that drove him mad with foul daydreams and terrible imaginings of her, dead or dying, alone, and cold, and frightened…

It was _fear._ Cold, hard, righteous fear, tempered only by the gnawing guilt that ate away at his innards like a sickness.

 _For if she was not found,_ he thought, _he might never have the chance to tell her how much she was missed. He might never be able to say how he longed to hear her voice, to feel the soft touch of her fingers against his. If she was never found again, he would never have the chance to tell her how happy she had made him, how deeply he felt for her, the only person in the whole, wide world who treated him as a_ man _first, a_ King _second._

 _If he never saw her again, he would never get a chance to tell her how sorry he was for losing her, and how hard he'd fight to keep his promise, if she'd only give him the chance._

* * *

The letter, coming at daybreak on the eighth day of the search, arrived with a frantic knock on his chamber door.

"My Lord!" The voice belonged to Roberto, the young pageboy Edward had hired from a family of masons on the city's East end. As the youngest child of twelve, it was a high honour for him to serve the King, and he did his job as well as any boy of ten might be expected.

"My Lord!" cried Roberto again. "My Lord, a letter!"

His little fist rapped anxiously on the door. Edward, rolling over onto his injured arm with a hiss, sat up quickly and squinted in the dark, heaving himself out of bed.

Roberto knocked again, but Edward swung the great, wooden thing open before he could call out. The child scrambled into a low bow— something that was a constant source of amusement for Edward— and held out his hand, upon which rested a tightly curled, damp parchment.

"Where is this from?" demanded Edward at once, taking it up in his hands. "Who brought it?"

"A man," panted Roberto. For the first time, Edward noticed his wet hair and bright eyes. The child, too, would have been newly woken, roused from sleep to bring his King this missive…

"A man in your standards," said the boy. "A soldier, I think, though he did not give his name…"

Edward unfurled it at once. A single line of text glared up at him like a hot, simmering coal, and Edward felt the heat of it sear him to his very core.

 _E,_

 _We've found a body by the jungle's edge.  
_

 _J._

A body. _A body._ A body in the jungle…

His heart fell to the very soles of his feet.

"Saddle my horse, Roberto." _Carlisle be damned… "_ Wake Marco at once."

"Yes, Sire…"

"And alert the guard. I am going to meet my brother."

 **A/N: Please don't shoot me. If you do, the cliffhanger is destined to remain forever a mystery.**

 **As always, let me know what you think! I love hearing from each and every one of you!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Warning: some foul language and violence in this chapter.**

 **Chapter 26**

"Stop where you are!" The voice behind her, low with fury, growled roughly into the trees. "Stop where you are or I'll kill her where we stand!"

In that early, grey dawn, the jungle stood still. Terror pierced her like a knife and Bella stood, knees quaking and heart throbbing like a hammer on a nail, pounding a punishing drumbeat in her ears. The sound of it was deafening— Bella wondered for a brief, terrible moment if the man could hear it too, and she thought it was mocking him with its pulsing rhythm that roared with life. She was _not_ dead, though this man might wish it otherwise, and the harder her heart pounded in her chest, the louder it grew in the overwhelming hush.

"You'd not have the courage," Rosalie bit out. Bella, frozen against the fierce grip on her neck and hair, felt her spine pop when he drew her head back further. Her breath came in short, sharp pants and her legs, trembling and weak, felt like they might give way.

"Wouldn't I?" the man snarled. He pressed the knife in harder and she felt its rough, thin edge pierce the skin. A line of blood ran down her collarbone, dripping onto her tunic, and the sting of it made her eyes water.

The man shook her, making her teeth rattle.

"Take another step!" he yelled, wild and unhinged. "Take another step, you little cunt, and just see what I do!"

Rosalie's eyes blazed with a silent, cold fury. She did not look at Bella— indeed, she did not even spare her a passing glance— but she remained where she stood, twenty feet away, her knees bent and ready to spring. She held the rusted, bloody knife aloft in her fist, and even though Bella's vision swam with sparkling tears, she could see that her companion, her _friend_ , did not tremble, her face full of passionate vitriol.

"Bruno!" bellowed the man, and Bella heard the other assailant's crashing footsteps from the darkness. Rosalie glanced away from the man holding her only when the great, hulking figure emerged from the trees, his cheeks flushed red, his teeth bared in displeasure. He stared at the scene before him, taking it in with a relishing grin, and clucked amusedly when he saw Rose's fingers twitch on the knife.

"Got her, eh, boss?" he chuckled, glaring so fiercely at Rosalie that Bella felt her knees give way. Another bolt of fear shot through her like an arrow when the man's grip redoubled, and her scalp screamed in protest when he yanked her head to his shoulder, hissing.

"Stand up, you fool!" he snapped at her. Bella felt the knife sink deeper, and she forced her feet to hold steady in the dirt. "Stand up or I'll gut you right here!"

Those words made Bella struggle against him again, adrenaline breaking through her bone-rattling fear. She felt the warmth of tears on her cheeks that she could not stop, and the man let out an annoyed rumble before he turned back to Rosalie.

"Put the blade down, girl," he ordered sharply.

Rosalie held her ground.

"Put it _down!"_ he screeched. The noise made Bella's ears ring. "Put it down, or…"

"Or what?" Rosalie growled, low and hateful. "Or what, you _brute?_ "

Bella screamed when the knife cut deeper still, the blood increasing on her neck and chest. She saw Rosalie's eyes widen in terrible shock before her resolve began to waver, and she lowered the knife to her side.

The pressure on her neck let up slightly.

"Put it _down,"_ said the man again. Bella could hear the savage glee, the joy of triumph, in his reedy voice. "Put it down and kick it to Bruno."

The larger man sneered at her. Rosalie wavered, her face falling.

"Now!" Both Rosalie and Bella jumped. "Now, or I'll do it!"

As if the threat of it was too much to resist, Bella felt the edge of the blade ease on her throat. Her relief, sharp and cold, was brief as she felt, with a renewed fear, the flat edge of the blade pressed to the wound. The blood slowed— indeed, Bella could no longer feel its trickle on her neck— but when Rosalie did not relinquish her weapon as demanded, she felt the hard, immovable steel begin to press harder and harder on her throat.

Her eyes began to water and she couldn't swallow, choking when the knife pressed her windpipe.

"Do it," said the man lowly, pressing the knife ever harder. Bella began to squirm again, but he held her fast. "Put that blade _down."_

Her airway closed entirely and Bella gasped, her face reddening as her vision began to darken. Her heart, which still throbbed painfully in her breast, rose to a crescendo, and she heard a dark, deep roar in her ears before her vision went black, and she felt the world falling away.

She could not be sure what happened next.

She felt her knees go limp. She felt the hand, clutching her hair, yank her, hard, and a few pieces of her long, dark hair were pulled free, tangled in the man's grimy fingers. She heard a shout, a scream, a piercing yell of pain, and the knife was ripped away from her throat as she fell, senseless, to the dirt of the jungle floor.

She'd forgotten how to breathe, and it took her several long moments to draw her first, searing gasp, her chest alight with flames as it expanded to take in that much-needed oxygen. Pain bloomed like a flower in her breast as she took another, hacking breath, spreading all the way to her fingers and toes before she rolled over, choking and coughing.

Her vision returned last and when she blinked away the blackness, she saw nothing but the green jungle floor, and the dirt and blood crusting her torn, ragged fingernails.

Before she could so much as move, Bella felt a pair of rough, insistent hands on her arms, and she was flipped onto her back with a groan of agony. Her eyes flitted shut of their own accord, and when she felt fingers on her face, she brought her hands up sloppily to slap them away.

" _Please_ don't be dead…" said Rosalie, breathless. "Open your eyes, Bella…"

With every ounce of willpower she possessed, Bella forced her eyes open and stared, stupid, at the pale, frightened face.

"Rose…"

Rosalie, taking her by the arms again, hauled her upright and the world began to spin. She coughed again, doubled over in the dirt, and fought to catch her breath, the burgeoning headache thrumming in her skull making her dizzy and sick.

"Thank the _Gods,_ " Rosalie breathed, her mouth very close to Bella's ear. It took her a moment to realize that Rosalie was _hugging_ her, and Bella, astonished, brought up a weak arm to thump her on the back. "Thank the _Gods,_ Bella… I thought you were killed."

"Not quite," she choked, her voice rough and low. "Not quite yet, anyhow…"

Rosalie laughed, and Bella heard a wet sniffle that told of tears.

With a sudden start, Bella's head shot up, her eyes squinting into the brightening dawn behind the field.

"Finn…" she said. "Finn ran off…"

"We'll find him," said Rosalie at once. "We'll find him… He did exactly as he should have. He's safe out there, though no doubt terrified…"

Bella, squirming out of the embrace, let her eyes fall to the jungle floor again where she stared, dumbstruck, at the scene before her.

The large man— the one called Bruno— was nowhere to be seen. Bella could see the footprints in the mud where he had stood, and though she could not be sure, she thought she could make out the rough trail he'd carved upon his retreat. Two weapons were strewn haphazardly on the ground— the long, steel sword that the skinny man carried, and Rosalie's rough knife, which was covered in sticky, red blood from the tip to the hilt.

Next to it, sprawled obscenely among the leaves, lay the skinny man who'd cut her, his body writhing in an agony of pain. Bella's breath caught when she saw him, blood bubbling from his lips and from two deep, angry wounds in his chest and belly. His shirt was cut where the blade had pierced him, and the blood throbbed in time with his heart— a speedy, rhythmic pulse that stained the jungle red.

Rosalie glanced back without pity, shaking her head as if to clear it, and reached down to Bella again, taking her hands in hers.

"Can you stand?" she asked gently. "If you can, we must move. I don't know where the other one went, and it's not safe for us to linger here."

Bella allowed Rosalie to help her up. A wave of lightheadedness unsteadied her for a moment before she regained her footing, taking a careful step towards the carnage.

Bella had no words, though her eyes shone with frightened tears.

"Come away," said Rosalie, and for the first time, Bella noticed the red blood splattering her front. "Don't look if it upsets you, Bella. Come away."

The man gurgled and spluttered as Bella turned her head. Rosalie left her for a quick moment, snatching her sullied blade from the dirt by the man's side, and when she returned to guide her away, Bella fought her recoil.

"Come away," said Rosalie again, and this time, she took Bella's hand. Rosalie led them towards the treeline, where the jungle broke suddenly into a green, rolling field of high, untamed grass that tickled Bella's feet.

The sun, cresting fully behind the bank of thick, grey clouds, turned the first drops of dew to mist, and Bella, stumbling away from those infernal trees, let Rosalie guide her into the clear.

* * *

They found Finn in the shallows of a stream, shivering in a fog that was as thick as cream. Rosalie had grown pale with worry, her eyes tuned for any sign of her wayward boy, and when they'd come upon the water, so clear and clean that it made Bella's skin itch with the anticipation of a wash, the child had come tumbling out from a copse of reeds to grab his mother in relief, pressing his face into her collar.

Bella had looked away when Rosalie had begun to cry, feeling like an intrusive and unwanted observer to this powerful, maternal relief. Bella did not know how Rosalie felt— she did not know the agony of fear and failure from a mother who had lost her child, and so could not share in the subsequent relief. Instead, Bella had lowered herself to the stream, her eyes following the silver glints of fish beneath the current, and had dunked her face into the water to take deep, cool gulps. Her headache, which had not abated since their escape, lessened somewhat with this small mercy, and when she emerged, full and sated for the time being, Bella sighed, resting her head on her knees.

Rosalie, red-eyed and smiling, came up beside her with a suddenness that made Bella jump. The child was bouncing now, grinning up at Bella with impish pride, and despite herself, she grinned back at him, giving him a quick, tired wink.

His grin turned into a cracking smile when she did, and Bella felt a sudden warmth of camaraderie bloom in her heart. Perhaps Finn was getting used to her, after all…

This suspicion was confirmed when the child, with only slight encouragement from his mother, crawled gracelessly off of her lap to wrap his skinny arms around Bella's middle, resting his head on her chest. He didn't speak to her— Bella had not expected him to— but when she felt the warmth of him, so willingly pressed against her, she dropped her face and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of his head, making the child giggle with delight.

He crawled back to Rosalie once Bella's hold had loosened, and together they sat, unspeaking, shielded by the rolling, tumbling mist.

"We should wash," said Rosalie eventually, breaking the quiet when a minnow rippled at the top of the stream. They watched the tiny fish until it disappeared into the rocks, carried off by the flow. "The water is clear, and not too cold."

Bella, shivering with anticipation, did not protest. Rosalie took her boy in her arms and moved a bit downstream and Bella, ignoring her protesting muscles, went just far enough upstream that she was invisible in the fog. She watched Rose as she went, stopping when she could see nothing more than a blurred, dark shadow of a shape, huddled and crouched at the water's edge.

Bella tried not to think of the man who had held her as, bit by bit, her body was exposed. First, she slipped out of the sandals, now cracked and torn, from her blackened and bloodied feet. The blisters, which had broken open, had morphed into raw, red sores that oozed a pink, bloody liquid that stained the suede straps and wooden soles. Her trousers, which were stiff with grime, melted like ice when she dipped them in the water, sending a swell of brown murk downstream to where Rosalie was wringing out Finn's tunic. She sat almost naked in the grass, invisible to all but herself, and scrubbed and wrung the trousers as best she could before she slipped out of her filthy tunic and dipped her toe in the current.

She slid in as quickly as she could, resting her sore, ragged feet on a cold, smooth slab of rock beneath the water. The stream came up to her waist and the current was slow and easy, so she knelt down on her knees, letting the water wash over her chest and neck.

The water, which was as welcome as an oasis in a desert, made her feel weightless. Floating on a cloud, Bella let her arms extend out, hovering somewhere between the ground and the shore, bobbing leisurely in the current. Her feet, which throbbed and ached with each step she took, thanked her greatly for the reprieve, and though the water stung when it touched the wounds, she began to feel an immense relief that came with the cold. Dirt loosened and lifted from cracks and crevices as she wiggled and twisted, bringing handfuls of clear, soothing water over her face, her neck, her back. She scrubbed as hard as she dared, her palms moving gently over her mottled, bruised flesh, and once the grime was cleared away from her body, she began the laborious task of rinsing her hair.

Her days in the jungle had not been kind to her. Her hair, which had once been plaited and clean for the cleansing service at Terosankta, had loosened in snarled knots at the back of her head. Bella had tried to retie it— tried to bring some semblance of order to the wild, tangled mess— but had failed outright when her wrist, still swollen and blue, had thrummed in painful protest. Dirt and twigs, which had been caught in the mass of dark tresses, floated downstream and out of sight. Blood from the wounds on her scalp turned the water pink for the merest moments before it, too, disappeared downstream. The spot where the man had grabbed her felt tender and raw. Where he'd pulled the hair from her head, Bella felt a bruising pain beneath a thinned patch of hair. She drew her fingers through it with the utmost care, trying to detangle as much as she could,before she closed her eyes and let herself float among the reeds, her feet tickled by weeds and passing salmon.

Rosalie appeared through the gloom just as Bella cracked her eyes open, and she immediately sunk beneath the water once more, shielding her nakedness. Rosalie had dressed and plaited her hair, and though her clothes looked heavy with water, she was smiling, her eyes bright and laughing.

"Get dressed," said Rosalie gently. "We must move on. We're still very close to the jungle, and this fog will not hold for long."

Bella, red-faced, nodded quickly.

They could not dry their clothes— not here, in the dense mist, where there was no sun or wind to help it. They had no more spares— whatever supplies they'd carried with them had been left behind in their nighttime flight, and Bella, plagued by a sudden exhaustion and a biting hunger, did not complain when the damp clothes made her cold, or when her hair, sodden and dripping, was forced back into a haphazard bun to keep the water off of her neck.

* * *

Edward reached the jungle just as the sun began to sink low in the west, the great, orange orb disappearing behind the craggy peaks of _La Cunamo._ His arm, bound tightly to his torso, ached with a fierce and biting pain from the jolting cantor of his horse. His eyes itched with a pervasive and heavy tiredness that bit to the very marrow of his bones, making his muscles ache and his head throb. He had ridden hard— the roads, blocked by people flocking in droves to the Capital in a reactive exodus from the lands nearest the mountains, had made the journey hard and tedious. Word had spread about Bella's disappearance and the attack at Terosankta, and after the King's curfew had been announced throughout the land, the people feared another attack, and not even Edward could guarantee safety.

The truth of the matter was this: if they could not coax answers from the traitors in the dungeons, the Gods only knew what nefarious plots the westerners might carry out. The curfew had only enhanced the fear— if the King was locking the gates, then there must be some measurable, palpable threat.

Edward had moved into open wilderness to avoid the congestion.

Carlisle, who had been woken by a well-intentioned servant just after dawn with news of the Prince's missive, had insisted on accompanying Edward and his three guards on their journey west. His uncle was displeased— Edward could tell just by the pinched expression on his face that he did not approve of this outing, nor would he sanction it, but none of it mattered to Edward now. His arm was healing— no infection had set in, there had been no foul itch, no true pain to mark disorder in the process, and there was nothing in heaven or earth that would help it now. Staying in bed, Edward knew, was a likely course, and he'd been ready, if not _content_ , to let his uncle have his way before Jasper's letter had arrived. He'd been ready to obey his healer, to relinquish his kingly right of authority at the price of his own pride, but he could not, in good conscience, let that missive go unanswered.

Jasper had done well, leading the men with as much wisdom and grace as might be expected of a boy so young. He was the greenest of the green, the youngest of the young, and yet, though he was flighty, and hasty, and unsteady, he'd grown up just enough to take on this task with a serious dedication that made Edward's heart swell. Edward was proud of his brother— proud of the command he'd taken, of the role he'd assumed, of the care he'd shown— but there was another factor in play now that put his young brother far out of his depth, and Edward could not bear to sit at home, waiting.

The world had grown quiet now. Only the hoofbeats of the horses, sprinting through the fields, and the low creak of crickets beneath their feet made any sound. Magnus was slick with sweat though his flanks, heaving with exertion, were the only hint of his efforts. Carlisle's mount, however, seemed to be lagging. She was a borrowed horse from the castle stables— a tall, dust-coloured mare— and she was unused to such long, arduous travel.

"Edward!" Carlisle called over the pounding hoofbeats and Edward slowed down just enough to let Carlisle catch up, his mare panting and foaming at the mouth. A pang of pity struck him for the beast and he fell short, stopping just shy of a low, wooden fence.

"We must pause and think," said Carlisle, stretching his back. His face was grim, as it had been all day, and Edward wondered, not for the first time, just what kinds of imaginings were occuring behind those grey, inscrutable eyes.

"The party is south, though not far. We've ridden well, and we've made good time," said Edward. "We'll make it just after dark. They know we're coming."

Edward had sent a bird, bound for Jasper's hunting party, with a small, brusque message.

 _We're coming._

Carlisle brought his horse around.

"I must ask you," Carlisle said somberly, "what you will do when we get there." His eyes, liquid and soft, made Edward falter. "What will you do with her, if we find her?"

Edward's throat felt tight.

 _What would he do with her, if he found her?_

The thought was inconceivable. He did not want to think it— not even here, when they were so close to discovery. He did not want to think of her, lying still in the dirt, her body worn by travel and thin with hunger. He did not want to see her, unmoving and still, her pretty face contorted in the agonies of death. He did not want to see her wounded, did not want to see the damage done by birds and wild cats, did not want to feel her, cold and stiff from his own negligence, his own lack of care to keep her safe.

"It may _not_ be her," said Edward slowly, his voice thick and his face stormy. "It may be some other soul, lost to the trees…"

Carlisle's pitying glance said more than words ever could. Riding had put Edward off, had dulled that ache in his chest that had arisen when his page had woken him that morning, telling of destruction in the west. The thunderous path he'd carved through the countryside had been just enough to tamp down the grief. When he was riding, he could forget what they were running to. When he felt Magnus beneath him, strong and sure-footed, Edward could, for even the briefest moment, push the terrible fear aside. Riding made him strong. It made him _fierce._

And he did not like to stop, for when they did, he felt the crushing weight of that loss all over again, and a bubble rose like a sparrow in his chest, lumping in his throat and pricking his eyes.

Carlisle, catching the brightness in his nephew's gaze, fell into pitying silence, his head hung low. He had not told Esme the purpose of their trip— only that Jasper had called for aid, and he dared not let Edward go alone— and Edward knew that he, too, prayed for that very miracle, though he would never voice it aloud.

"Perhaps not," he agreed dubiously, his voice as thin as parchment. "Perhaps you are right, Edward, and we will not find tragedy tonight."

But as Edward swung Magnus back around, his eyes fixed on the south, the heaviness did not allay. Someone, somewhere, would be missing their family. A daughter, a son, a mother, a father… someone, somewhere was lost to the world, was nothing more than an empty shell left behind to rot and decay. And someone else was missing them, was grieving them, was railing to the Gods and shouting to the heavens…

Death was always a tragedy.

* * *

When they reached the camp just two hours after sunset, Edward saw the smoke from the cookfire, hazy against the glow of the moon. The clouds had cleared just enough to let it loose and it shone, bright and silver, to illuminate their makeshift path to the south. The camp was small— one tent for the Prince, set nearest the fire, was surrounded by four others, each with five men within. Guards, dressed in standards of red and gold, peered into the black jungle with blind, searching eyes, their swords unsheathed and shields resting comfortably against bent knees. Two more ran patrol— Edward could see them walking, shoulder-to-shoulder, around the perimeter of the camp, and when they caught sight of the travellers coming their way, a blast from a horn rang noisily through the trees.

"The King!" shouted one man. "The King is come!"

"Make way!"

"Stand aside!"

"We've been spotted," said Carlisle, and Edward saw the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. The three guards Edward had brought closed in behind him, shielding him from the darkness of the trees.

"We should move on, then," said Edward easily. The horses, who had begun to lag about an hour prior, moved sluggishly towards the camp. Edward reached it in minutes, dismounting and handing the reins to a nearby soldier, who took Magnus away to the stream at once.

"My King." A soldier Edward did not recognize bowed low, and Edward nodded in greeting. "We welcome you…"

"Ed!" Jasper, hearing the commotion, emerged from his tent at once. His hair was wet— he'd evidently washed himself before Edward's arrival— but he still wore his day clothes, dusty and scuffed from the day's work.

Edward took him by the shoulders at once, his injured arm pricking at the motion, and surveyed the boy with deep concern.

"Where is it?" Edward said lowly. "Where's the body?"

Jasper, frowning, glanced back at Carlisle.

"I think Uncle should see, too," he said at once and Edward, his heart hammering, saw that there was no sadness in the boy's face. Carlisle followed without comment. "It's just back here, near the trees. We moved it from the jungle, but…"

Edward, lagging only slightly, felt his brother's grip on his hand.

"It's not… _her,"_ said Jasper at once, reading Edward's fear like a book. "I'm sorry, Ed. It's not her. But it is… _something."_

Relief like a wave washed over him at once, and Edward halted, feeling his knees tremble like a newborn colt. Carlisle grabbed him, fearing he would fall, and Jasper went white with worry, but Edward shook his head, laughing, and brushed them both off.

"Praise the Gods," said Edward seriously, turning his face up to the sky. "Praise every single God in every single sky…"

"I suppose I should have written that down, too," said Jasper, frowning and embarrassed. "I was in rather a rush this morning…"

Edward, feeling Jasper stiffen with surprise, kissed the boy on the cheek, making Jasper pull awkwardly away.

"Stop it, Ed…" He glanced back, abashed, towards the camp. The soldiers were not looking— indeed, they all seemed to be huddled around the fire, sharing news— but it did not stop Jasper from scowling irritatedly at him, his lips pursed.

"What's the matter with you?" he complained, glancing at Carlisle as he wiped all evidence of the kiss from his face. "Did he hurt his head, as well as his arm?"

Carlisle, sagging with similar relief, laughed.

"No, I rather think we're just relieved, is all," he said easily. "It's been a very tense day. We thought…"

Jasper frowned, turning quickly away.

"It's _not_ her," he said again. "I don't know who it is— no one in our party does— but we know for a fact that it isn't _her."_

"How do you know?" asked Edward gently. They continued their walk and Edward, squinting, thought he could make out a shape on the ground some fifty feet ahead. "Are you _positive?"_

"Yes," said Jasper easily. "Absolutely certain. It's not a _woman."_

Edward frowned, suddenly curious.

"A man?" he asked. He sped up his pace, closing the gap between himself and the shape with haste. They'd covered the body with a sheet, but it did little to hide the blood. Great, red spots had bloomed up over the fabric, stunningly dark against the pale cloth.

Edward reached down and pulled it back, revealing the thin, haggard face of a man he did not know. The face was gaunt and white, eyes staring sightlessly to the stars, and there was a frothy, bloody foam dried at the corners of his mouth. Edward frowned down at him, dumb with surprise, but Carlisle, concerned and cautious, pulled the sheet completely away and grimaced, his eyes growing dark.

The man was tall, but thin. Perhaps thirty, maybe forty, his hair had just begun to grey, and his teeth were yellow and chipped. Carlisle bent over the man's face, taking in the rolling, brown eyes and crooked, pockmarked nose, before he bent the man's head to the side, taking in the profile with the same, unmovable frown.

The cause of the man's death was obvious, even to Edward's untrained eye. His tunic, which had been torn up the front, exposed two great wounds— one between the ribs on his right side, and one just above his navel on the left. Both cuts were caked with blood, their edges ragged and raw, and when Carlisle reached down to press a hand to the man's sternum, he grimaced.

"Stabbed," said Carlisle in wonder. "By a dull blade, by the looks of things."

"Dull?" asked Jasper, confused. "How can you know that?"

"See the edges?" Jasper leaned in closer, his face a mask of apprehension, and stared at the wound with concentration. "They're ragged."

Jasper said nothing.

"A sharp blade makes clean edges," explained Carlisle. "It _cuts_ , where a duller blade _tears."_

"That's foul," said Jasper disgustedly, pulling away from the corpse. "How do you know it was even a knife?"

"See the shape?" Carlisle said easily. "Oblong, like a blade, not round or square as a branch or another object. He was impaled, not simply cut, and so it must be some kind of knife, or sword."

"Not a sword," said Edward gently. "There are only two wounds."

Verifying this truth, Carlisle turned the body onto its side, looking for additional wounds that might tell of a longer blade.

"A knife, then," Carlisle agreed. "A dull knife. But this still begs the question…"

Edward stared at the man, unblinking and serious.

"Who is he, and why was he killed?" Carlisle asked. He drew himself back to his feet, tossing the sheet back over the man's face before he turned to Edward, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"What will we do, now?" he asked gently.

"Sleep," said Edward at once, his eyes roving back to the camp. Now that the discovery had been made, he felt that queer, empty worry returning in his belly again. "Eat, and sleep."

"There's something else," said Jasper quickly. "Something else we found…"

"Indeed?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be, little brother?"

Jasper, pursing his lips, reached into the pocket of his breeches. His fist clenched beneath the fabric, and he hesitated, glancing back at the body.

"We found it in his hand," said Jasper softly. "We don't know where it came from, or why he had it, but…"

"Show me," said Edward at once, the fear rising like a snake. It was a constant battle, he thought, between terror and courage, and he was determined that fear would not win out.

Jasper put his fist in Edward's gloved hand. Edward felt nothing there, not even when Jasper's hand went flat in his, and Jasper curled Edward's stiff fingers protectively around the mystery thing when he pulled away.

Edward pulled the glove off of his free hand with his teeth, reaching carefully into the palm of the other.

What he felt made him freeze.

A bundle of hair, soft, and sleek, and as thick as his baby finger, coursed over and through his fingers to tickle the sensitive flesh of his wrist. He pressed it between his fingers, running down its length as he brought it to his face, his breath leaving him in a sharp, troubled sigh.

The bundle, dirty though it was, hung down his arm with a familiar curl that made his stomach clench. It shone in the moonlight, dark and thick, and where the edge of the ringlet caught the light, it shone red-brown in the gloom. Edward held it to his face, his fingers running delicately down the length until he came to the end, which was held and caked with a hard, crumbling stiffness.

When he rubbed his fingers against it, pulling some of that mysterious mess free, his fingers came away stained with crimson.

 **A/N: I'm glad so many of you are still enjoying this story. Thanks to all my reviewers!**

 **This week, my inbox was filled by reviews from felicitie, who asked a pertinent question that I thought might be of interest to anyone who's been keeping up with the story. She asked me how old Bella is, and so I figured I'd give you a breakdown of everyone's ages. Most are approximate, but should help to give you some guidance.**

 **Bella: 24  
** **Edward: 25  
** **Jasper: 13  
Emmett: 25  
Rosalie: 24  
Finn: 3  
Alice: 12  
Esme: 42  
Carlisle: 44  
**

 **I always imagined Esme as the younger sister of the late Queen Elizabeth (Edward's mother). She would have been 44. King Edward I (Edward's father) would have been 45.**

 **Hope that helps! Thanks again for reading!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

By midmorning, as the sun rose ever higher behind the bank of obstinate, grey clouds, the fog cleared in ribbons and rags as the mist fell from the air, rejoining its kindred in the great, wide sea. It blew by them in a quiet exodus— first, in wisps, then, in ripples, and finally, with a gusting wind billowing from the East, in a great, wet cloud, sidling silently up the slope from the verdant valley, leaving behind a sparkling, twinkling clarity. The grass was wet with its remnants and it kept Bella's trousers damp, though the wetness did not chill her as it might have done in the mountains. The air was warmer here, even with the overcast, and before they'd walked an hour from the stream, Bella was grateful for the cool dampness at her back. The air would have felt sticky and close had the great, sprawling plain not been so open, but the further they moved, the warmer it grew.

The morning passed in a exultant, frantic blur. The air, so fresh and new, held none of the damp musk of the jungle trees. The world beneath their feet was soft. Gone were the brackish, mossy puddles, so rank that they were hardly fit for beasts, and they had been replaced by clear, flowing rivulets and creeks, from which the three travellers drank readily. Their water pouches were gone, lost in the chaos of the night, but they did not find thirst a great trial, as there seemed to be an abundance of streams, no matter how far they moved from the trees.

"I've never seen so many," said Rosalie, her voice low and somber. Bella had noticed how her companion stared, her face stricken with a great, powerful awe, at the rolling, lazy landscape around them. She eyed the grass with almost comical confusion. The streams, which she thoroughly inspected any time they stopped to drink, made laughter bubble on her lips. When they passed farms lined with low, sturdy fences to mark fields of barley and rye, she could not tear her eyes away and took in the sight almost greedily. Finn, too, seemed similarly affected, and it was only as the clouds broke, some time just before noon, that Bella learned why.

"There is nothing like this in the west," she'd replied, breathless, when Bella had built up the courage to ask. To Bella's astonishment, Rosalie's face was flushed with shame and she looked away, her voice low. "We've got no farms like _this."_

Bella, nodding carefully, did not reply.

"We hunt, mostly." They were skirting the edge of a great, swaying field of wheat, and Rosalie reached out a tentative hand to touch it. The stalk curved beneath her hand, bouncing back with a wave when she let it go, and Finn, delighted, giggled and clapped. "We've got some crops— mostly root vegetables— but precious little grain."

Bella didn't know what it was like to live in a world where food was scarce. Troubled and stingy though her early life had been, she and her mother had never gone hungry. She had always sat a full table at mealtimes, and once she'd moved in with her Uncle Charlie, the bounty had only increased. Bella suspected, though Rosalie did not say so, that she and Finn were used to empty bellies and meager meals. Her abject astonishment at the grain would have been comical, had it not made Bella so disconcertingly sad.

"Those cakes we had were precious." Rosalie interrupted Bella's thoughts sharply. "They were made from the last of our stored grain from last year's harvest, and they were meant to hold us over until the next reaping. The Gods only know what Rojce is eating now, and I know that he is cursing us with every breath in his body."

Bella, fighting back a grimace, said nothing. The thought of Rosalie's husband— that man she'd been so eager to flee— made Bella feel vaguely ill, as if something sour and rank had settled deep in her belly to fester and rot. She had never met the man and she hoped she never would, and she suppressed the urge to grimace openly, lest Rosalie see her.

But those shrewd eyes did not miss a thing, and when she saw Bella work her face back into neutral disinterest, she laughed. Mistaking her disdain as a reaction to their lost rations, Rosalie poked her side, teasing.

"They're not made for their taste," she said easily. Finn, mesmerized by the swaying, golden plants, was running up and down the row now, dragging his fingers along the stalks. "They're made for sustenance."

All thoughts of Rojce packed safely away, Bella shook her head.

"They served their purpose," said Bella honestly. "I can ask no more than that."

"They're made from seawater," explained Rosalie. "It's why they're so salty. Freshwater is precious in the West to all except those lucky few who live by the river's edge."

Bella, frowning, bit her lip.

"The land is arid," continued Rosalie. She snatched at Finn, who had bravely begun to venture into the field itself, and pulled him back at once. The boy sulked, but said nothing, toying with the end of his mother's long plait. "The West was not made to sustain such large a population as it has been. The soil is thin, salted by the sea, and the rock beneath the dirt is near, and is made from the same, hard stone as the mountains themselves. There have always been rumours, of course… rumours of the bounty and flourish of the East, but I never thought them true."

Bella, staring down the long, sloping hill, continued to say nothing, her head buzzing with questions.

"We must find food, if we are to go on as we are," was what came out of her mouth. Rosalie's face darkened, pinched as if she were pained, and she spared a soft, gentle glance at her son, who had rested his cheek on her shoulder. Bella could see the thinness of his face and the bones of his fingers, almost birdlike in their delicacy, clutching idly at his mother's braid.

"Yes," she agreed, her voice soft and low. The child closed his eyes. "Yes, I think we must, though I know not where to look, or who to ask."

Bella, feeling the gnawing in her belly rising like a tide, stared out into the wide, swaying plain.

"There are farms," said Bella slowly, glancing at the shining wheat once more. "And if there are farms, there must be farmers…"

But Rosalie, staring down nervously at the hilt of her knife that was still stained red with blood, said nothing.

* * *

For hours, chasing the rising sun, Bella and Rosalie walked, their feet aching with strain and their eyes heavy with tiredness. Bella had slept poorly the night before and Rose had slept not at all, and together, squinting against the bright, white blaze of clouds, they forced themselves on, their eyes fixed on some distant, invisible spot on the horizon. The air was hot now, almost unbearably so, and the sweat ran down her back and made her tunic cling to her sides. The mist had completely vanished, leaving in its wake a rippling, rising heat, and though the streams were plentiful and clear, the water had grown warm. Finn clung to his mother, unable or unwilling to walk, and Bella knew that his added warmth must be a torture to Rosalie. Still, her companion did not complain. She trudged determinedly on, her obstinate gaze trained towards that invisible goal far in the distance, and Bella wondered at her resilience. She, herself, carried no child. The only added weight that troubled her was the shirt on her back, and even that seemed like an impossible burden, hot and tired as she was. Rosalie held two— the one on her back and the one in her belly— and as it did each time Bella thought of that tiny, unborn creature, her stomach tied in knots.

There was nothing else that she could do, either for Rosalie or her children, and yet the longer they lingered out in the wild, without shelter or rations, the guiltier Bella felt. Rosalie, this woman she'd only just met, had taken her in like a little wounded bird. She'd fed her when she was hungry, sheltered her when she was cold. She'd saved Bella, in more ways than one, as they'd fled from their assailants, and it was due to Rose's diligence and generosity that Bella had made it out of the jungle at all, in which she'd been hopelessly, endlessly lost. Rosalie had _killed_ a man for her, which was more than Bella had ever done for _anyone_ , and she had not complained once, though her body was as bruised as Bella's and her feet as sore.

Bella, poor and tired as she was, could give her nothing in return. She had nothing to offer, nothing to pledge, and it made her sick with guilt, knowing just what this woman had given up to help her. Bella knew little about pregnancy, having never been in such a state herself, but she knew enough to remember that stress and hunger were not healthy. Bella, as useless as an infant in the wild, had done nothing but eat Rose's rations and bring chaos and havoc, and the very thought of it made her feel wretched.

If Rosalie lost that baby— if that little thing died before it even had a chance to _live—_ Bella was sure that she would never forgive herself.

It was this thought in her mind— the image of that tiny baby, newly made and freshly loved— that distracted her. Her imaginings, which ran like a film in her head, were cut brutally short when she felt her toe catch on some invisible stone and she fell, sprawled out clumsily in the dirt, her chin stinging with a fresh scrape.

Rosalie knelt at once, her hands on Bella's back.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a mere breath in Bella's ear. Tears, stinging and angry, welled in Bella's eyes and she brushed them away. She would not look at Rosalie— not to show such weakness— and she turned away at once, her bruised pride flaring in protest. She rubbed her palms into her eyes, digging them in hard to hide the wetness, and let her head fall to her knees, her breath coming in sharp, hard pants.

Every single piece of her, from her head to her toes, felt like one great, aching bruise. Her wounds were sharp and stubborn, and made their presence known in strange pinches and pricks, all of them blurring into one, great mess of frayed nerves. When Rosalie pressed her hand to Bella's back, she felt the marks from the man's fists flare, and when she snapped her head up to protest, she felt the scabbed cut on her neck tighten and strain. Her wrist, more swollen than ever, flared like fire when she pushed herself away, and her feet, torn and bleeding, made her cry out when she tried to stand again.

She was utterly and completely defeated.

"We'll rest here a while," said Rosalie quickly, her eyes surveying Bella with concern. Finn, who had been released from Rose's hold, hovered nervously at her back, his wide, blue eyes fixed on Bella. She could not meet them, could not bear to look at his sad, little face, and instead stared fixedly at the grass, which waved and rippled in the breeze from the East.

"Can you lie down?" asked Rosalie, her voice hedging and soft. Bella, frowning, looked up at her with consternation, and the mask of pity morphed to one of surprise when Rose saw the frustration brewing in her face.

"We can rest," said Rose again, her voice lowering. "We can sleep here, if we must…"

"We must keep moving," said Bella roughly, her voice gritty. She shifted on the grass again, and had to bite back a cry. "We can't stop here, in the middle of nowhere…"

"We must stop sometime," said Rosalie, "and it does us no good if we're half dead with exhaustion."

"We've got no food," protested Bella. As if in acknowledgement of this, her stomach snarled audibly, and Rosalie bit her lip. "We've got no water."

"We'll figure it out," she said gently. "We'll find something."

 _Grass,_ Bella thought sardonically, though she kept that thought to herself. _Grass will be our supper…_

"Finn needs to eat," said Bella with finality, glancing at the wide-eyed child, who still cowered behind his mother. _"You_ need to eat, for that matter."

Rosalie said nothing, but continued to stare, troubled and somber.

"I'm fine," said Rosalie finally, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be _fine…"_

Bella, unable to help herself, glanced down at the swell of her belly. It was still small— too small to see through the tunic— but she knew it was there nonetheless. She remembered the hardness of it, the soft, round globe beneath her flesh, and Bella felt a pang of pity for that little creature, barely given a chance at all in the wide, mean world…

"We must move." Bella, biting back her cry, forced herself back to her feet, which trembled and ached beneath her. "We must go on, if we are to reach the capital, and I won't be the one to slow us down."

Rosalie stared at her, torn between furious argument and grateful appreciation, and in the end said nothing, but turned back East and began to walk, a little slower this time, keeping her gaze fixed on her companion.

As the sun rolled overhead, moving invisibly behind the wall of clouds that blocked the sky, Bella's life became an agony of misery, a waking nightmare of drudgery and boredom sharpened by the reek of fear and injury. She had never before felt so tired— not even in the days after she'd woken in the tall, tower room in Edward's great, red castle. Not even in the jungle, when she'd been hunted and pursued, and not even after, when she'd made her miraculous, desperate escape from the clutches of the West.

Like she had in the jungle, she stared at Rosalie's back as they walked. Finn was torn between a desire for warmth as the air grew cool again, and a desire to run through the fields. When he was free, Bella fixed her gaze on him, watching his little legs scramble furiously through the grass, his hair tousled and his face turned up to the cloudy, overcast sky. He brought a little warmth to her heart, a beacon of light in her own, personal darkness, and she moved all the quicker when he bounded out of sight, ignoring his mother's cries of rebuke. When he did this, Rosalie would catch him and scold him, and then she would carry him, an added burden on her tired frame, until he grew too heavy. She would release him then, with warnings to stay near and close, but as soon as his feet hit the grass he would flee, hooting noisily like a wild thing.

The longer they walked, the more exhausted she grew.

They trudged, plodding silently on until the sun was at their backs, their muscles aching with weariness and their bellies growling with hunger. Darkness grew in the East— a mass of black, inky clouds was rising like an ominous tide— and Bella, halting behind Rosalie, felt completely and utterly depleted.

"We must find shelter," said Rosalie gently, speaking to Bella for the first time since that afternoon. Finn, tired of running, was draped on her back again, his legs resting on the bump of her midriff and his arms clenched tightly around her neck. "We must find someplace to rest, for we cannot travel after dark."

Bella, despairing, looked around at the green landscape, her eyes roving for any sign of life in the empty, open plain.

"There's nothing," she said sullenly, spinning around in a full circle to be sure that this was true. "There haven't been any houses for miles."

Rosalie squinted out into the blackness, her shoulders slumped.

"We cannot sleep in the open," she said nervously, shaking her head. "We are out of the jungle, but there are still animals who might prowl the fields…"

Bella shivered at the thought.

"We must find something, or we must move on," said Rose, and Bella felt like crying again. Her stomach, still empty, snarled viciously and she fought to keep herself upright, holding her breath until the pinched, cramping pain went away.

"We could double back," said Bella dubiously, her muscles aching at the very thought. "That farm a while back looked empty, but there was a barn out front…"

"We can't double back," said Rosalie quickly. Her face, stricken, was filled with a loathing reluctance. "We can't, Bella… we'd not make it before nightfall, and it will set us back at least two hours."

 _Two hours,_ Bella thought, _that she might not have the strength to walk again._

Her knees shook and she sighed, her shoulders slumped in quiet acceptance. It was an option, but one that was not even remotely favourable. She glanced around at the darkening field again, and felt her eyes sting with tears.

"We must rest, if dark is coming," she said softly. "We will simply have to make a watch, that's all."

Rosalie's face fell.

"We've got no blankets," she said. "No furs for warmth… nothing but this knife, and I fear that neither of us are in any state to fight, should we find ourselves in need…"

A flash of annoyance struck Bella like a bolt, but she kept it in check, glaring mutinously at the ground.

"I'm fresh out of ideas, then," she said tensely. "What else can we do?"

Rosalie looked helplessly around as if she half expected some rescuer to spring from the grass, but none came and she slumped with a sigh, her fingers clutching her son's hands.

"Then I suppose there's nothing else for it," said Rosalie softly. "We must rest, for we are running on nothing as it is…"

Disentangling Finn from her back, she brought the child down to sit at her feet. Bella watched, pity warring with despair in every fibre of her being, as she lowered herself to the soft grass and fell with a thump to her back, throwing her arm over her eyes.

"I'll take first watch," said Rosalie, and to her astonishment, Bella felt the warmth of the child settled at her side. Rose's voice was thin now, too, as if she were also close to tears. "You rest. Keep Finn close."

Bella, surprising even herself, shook her head.

" _I'll_ take first watch," she countered quickly. The boy, confused and unhappy at being jostled again, went slowly to his mother when Bella nudged him, rubbing his eyes. "I'll wake you in a while. You didn't sleep a wink last night."

Rosalie, peering carefully through a gap between her arms, frowned.

"You're injured," she countered gently. "Worse off than me. You should rest, while you can."

"Go to sleep," Bella said firmly, and with more authority than she knew she had, she pulled the knife from the waistband of Rose's pants. It was heavy in her hands, and still crusty with blood that could not be washed away in the stream, but its weight comforted her, as if she might stand a slight chance at winning should she be ambushed or attacked.

Rosalie stared at her, her face a mask of worry.

"Go to _sleep,"_ said Bella again, her voice growing sharp. "It'll do us no good if we both stay up. I'll wake you if there's trouble, and if not, when I'm too weary."

Rosalie pulled Finn, who was drowsing already in the soft turf, to her side.

"Don't forget to listen," she said finally, her eyes falling on the knife at Bella's knee. "If you hear anything strange, you must wake me."

"I know," said Bella. "I know… now go to sleep."

She forced her own eyes open, staring into the darkening twilight. Rosalie, giving her one last, wistful look, settled next to her boy with a quick kiss to his cheek and was asleep in minutes, her face more peaceful than Bella had ever seen it in waking.

Tiredness ate at her bones like a sickness, but Bella did not let herself sleep, flexing her sore muscles and angry wounds to keep herself awake. It would not do to have a shabby guard— not when they were so exposed and vulnerable— and with the determination of a mule she kept vigilant, her eyes raking the swaying, empty fields.

* * *

Sometime in the night, long after Bella's first watch, the darkness melted away in the east, and with it rose a cool, pale dawn.

The child woke first. Blinking sluggishly into the burgeoning light, he had glanced first at his mother, who slept soundly by his side, and then to the sun, which was just beginning its ascent into the morning sky. He blinked at it, dazzled by its brightness, but that astonishment did not last long when his gaze fell on Bella, who was watching him wearily, her face a grey mask of exhaustion.

"Good morning," she said gently, and the boy blushed furiously. He sat up carefully in the grass, his lip between his teeth, before he crawled slowly forward, using Bella's good arm to haul himself to his feet.

In an astonishing display of tenderness, he put his arms about her neck and sighed, settling himself down in her lap with a sweet, gentle caress. Bella, her heart growing fondly, kissed the tip of his pink nose. He wrinkled it comically, glancing back at his sleeping mother, and Bella held a finger to his lips.

"Shhh," she said softly. "Let Mama rest for now."

The child sat placidly in her lap, saying not a word.

They sat together like that, silent and contemplative, as the sun rose in the clear, blue dawn. Bella was pale with tiredness, having slept badly during her turns to rest, and every muscle in her body was in dire need of a stretch, but even with those complaints shouting angrily in her head, she could not deny the beauty of the sunrise. It was clear, here, on the downward slope of the great, island basin, and she watched it with awe as it began to shine, sending crystals of light dancing in the dew. Black, inky sky quickly made way for deep indigo, laced with violets and pinks as bright as blossoms. Orange came next— first a hint, then a wave, before the entire eastern horizon was aglow with fire, a spot of yellow creeping up just as the sun itself began to peek over the grass.

Finn, staring just as eagerly as Bella, let his eyes begin to water before Bella turned him away, fearing that he'd damage his eyes if he stared at it too long.

"It's very pretty," she said softly, and he grinned up at her shyly. "It's very bright."

He cuddled closer, letting his eyes fall shut again.

Bella did not begrudge the child sleep. Small and young as he was, Bella was surprisingly proud of the fortitude he'd shown, his bravery in the face of blatant danger and terror. She was pleased that he'd found comfort enough in her arms to sleep, and she let him rest his eyes for several long moments before he opened them again and sat up straight, his hands on either side of her face.

He stared at her, his head cocked and his lip between his teeth, with a little furrow marring the porcelain skin between his brows.

"What is it?" she asked softly, and the child hitched his shoulder to his ear. He sighed, his fingers running over the blackened flesh of her left eye, and shuddered.

"Mean," he said softly, and Bella sighed, shaking her head.

"It's alright," she soothed, pulling away from his hands. "It'll be fine before you know it, don't you worry."

His fingers traced the angry, red cut on her neck next, and he looked as if he might cry. It stung when he pressed it and he jerked his fingers back, appalled, when she let out an involuntary hiss, burying his face in her chest again, shamefaced and sorry.

"It's alright," she said again. His hands, tucked beneath him now, did not move again, and she frowned. "Don't be frightened…"

His head snapped up and he shook it violently, scowling.

"Not _scared_ ," he said lowly, worming his way onto his knees. Bella let his legs slip between hers, as his sharp, jabbing kneecaps angered the tender skin of her thighs. He rested his hands there instead, looking up at her with almost comical affront.

She kissed his cheek out of pure impulse, and this time he squirmed. Bella pulled away nervously, wondering if she'd crossed some kind of boundary, but her fears were allayed when he brought his face near hers, and pressed a wet, childish kiss on her scraped chin.

"Better," he said, satisfied. He fell back on his heels, bouncing proudly as he watched her newest injury, and when Bella smiled, despite herself, he grinned wildly back.

"All better," he said again, and she laughed this time. He liked her laughter— his little face perked right up at the sound— and before she could stop him, he had taken her arm and was pressing rows of quick, messy kisses all the way from her wrist to her elbow.

"Better, better, better…" he sang as he bounced, each word punctuated by another kiss. He made it up to her shoulder, looking satisfied and content, before he moved on to her truly injured arm, glancing apprehensively at the angry, blue swelling.

"Better," he said hedgingly, his lips pressed feather-light to the skin. It did not hurt her, and Bella did not protest. "Better, better, _all_ better…"

Rosalie, stirring at the sound of his voice sat up slowly, her face scanning the field with momentary confusion before her gaze fell on the pair of them. She blinked, surprised to find her boy so close to Bella, but grinned fondly when she caught on to his mission and said nothing until Bella gently nudged him away, pointing at his newly risen mother.

"Look," she said, and the boy whipped around. "Your mama's awake."

He spared her only a grin, waving a little hand dismissively in greeting, before he continued his quest to cure her, growing frustrated when the arm remained blue, even after copious kisses.

When he pressed his final kiss to the tip of her nose, much as she had done to him just that morning, he sat back and assessed his handiwork, seeming satisfied enough with the smile on Bella's face.

He reached out to his mother then, scrambling over on bended knees, and held his arms up to demand a hug, his eyes bright.

"Snack, Mama?" he asked inquisitively, and Bella saw Rosalie's face fall. "Snack?"

"Soon, baby," she sighed, glancing once again around the empty, green field. "We'll find something before nightfall."

Finn had no understanding of such timelines and went quiet at once, trying to sort it all out. Bella's own stomach, at the very thought of food, snarled viciously, and she glanced warily out towards the eastern sunrise.

"How much longer until we make it to the capital?" asked Bella softly. Rosalie, patting Finn's wild, tangled hair down with the palm of her hand, shrugged. "Will we make it by nightfall?"

"I _think_ so," she said slowly, leaving Finn on the ground as she stretched up to her full height. The bruises on her arms and sides— relics from her fight the day before— had grown darker through the night, and were now like ghastly splotches of ink. They wrapped around her like snakes, coiling tightly about her strong, wiry arms, and enveloped her sides in blue and purple, which made Bella fear for the baby she carried.

"Are you alright?" Bella stood at once, her face stricken with concern. "You're black and blue."

Rosalie, shrugging, pulled her sleeves down at once.

"I'll be fine," she said easily. "We'll _all_ be fine, so long as we can get our hands on some food. If my calculations are correct, we _should_ make it to the capital just after nightfall. It's a long walk yet, and I know we're tired, but if we can make it far enough to find a farm or house, we might find ourselves lucky."

But Bella, refusing to be assuaged or distracted, stared down at Rose's belly with concern until the other woman rolled her eyes, hiked up her shirt, and pressed Bella's hand to the hard, round globe.

Bella, uncertain, kept her hand very still, taking the time to inventory the bruises that ran down from her chest to her midriff.

"There," said Rose, and she pushed Bella's hand, quite hard, into the soft, pliable flesh. Bella balked, trying to pull back, but Rose's grip was strong. "There… did you feel that?"

Bella shook her head. Rosalie, frowning, fell still again.

She moved Bella's hand minutely to the left before she pressed it in again.

"No," Bella said, pulling her hand away as soon as Rosalie's grip loosened. Rose sighed, pulling her shirt back down, and took Bella's hand gently in her own.

"I appreciate your concern," she said softly, "and I know it's warranted. But I can _feel_ him moving— he's been rolling and kicking since the day I left the West— and there's been nothing to suggest that he's in any danger."

Bella bit her lip.

"I didn't feel Finn until months later than this," she said gently, and Bella, glancing quietly at the contemplative, rosy-cheeked child, cracked a smile. "He was a stubborn one— almost never moved. This one's an acrobat, I tell you… it might be too soon for _you_ to feel, but trust me when I tell you that _I_ can. He's as safe as he can be, and it won't do either of us any good to worry over it when there's nothing more we can do."

Bella glanced back at Finn, her face flushed.

"He's heavy," she said softly, and Rosalie laughed at her.

"I'm _not_ an invalid," she said shortly, though not unkindly. "I've carried heavier things than Finn all my life. It won't kill me now."

Bella, feeling no remorse for her fussing, simply nodded her head.

"I can take him, if you get too tired," she said finally, and Rosalie, grinning sardonically at her, shook her head.

"If you weren't so… _damaged,_ I just might let you," she said, and Bella flushed indignantly. "You're about ready to fall apart."

"I'm _not,"_ she said hotly. "Not even _close…"_

But Rosalie stared down at her again, and Bella looked too, her face hot with embarrassment.

Her feet were torn to shreds, her sandals barely hanging on by a thread. Her legs, which were skinny as sticks, trembled with the weight of her own body, light and soft though it was, and the angry, ragged cut that had been inflicted by the assailants at Terosankta had not healed fully, leaving behind an angry, red scab. Her arms were bruised— marks in the shapes of hands where the skinny man had grabbed her, and angry remnants of violence where the larger man had struck her, and though she could not see her face, she knew it must be a sight. Finn had kissed the scrape on her chin, and another scratch on her nose, and she knew, from the pain his little fingers had brought, that she had at least one black eye, and a very sore wound on the back of her scalp. Her lips were cracked and chapped, her muscles ached with strain and weariness, and her throat, which thankfully, had not been done a fatal injury, felt tight and sore along the scabbed cut, and she knew that any sharp movements would open it right back up again.

She said nothing in reply to Rosalie's silent point, and made herself stand as tall as she could, handing the rough, hilted blade back to Rose with affront.

"If I absolutely _need_ to," said Rosalie softly, taking the weapon back with slow hands, "I'll let you take him. Is that a deal?"

Bella, feeling rebuked and childish, simply nodded, glancing back at the boy.

"Walk?" he asked, looking between the two of them with wide, eager eyes. "Walk, mummy? Walk?"

"Yes, Finn," said Rose, and the child sprang to his feet. "Yes, baby. We're going to walk."

And with that, the child sprang off into the grass, giggling and tumbling down hills and valleys.

* * *

Finn's joy had lasted only until midday, when the clouds had rolled back in and a drizzle, misty and damp, had begun to pelt down on them from the heavens. The mist was cold, and so fine that it seeped right in to the thin fabric of their clothes, making their pants stick and their shirts drip. The grass became slick and treacherous, turning idle valleys into perilous, muddy slides, and it slowed them considerably when they had to halt, picking a careful path to avoid the sharpest stones and steepest slopes.

The farms were all deserted. Each homestead, bringing with it a new, anxious hope, was dark and still, without candles in the windows, or smoke from the chimneys. They passed four new farms before noon, each with billowing fields of grain and green, but when they knocked timidly on doors or peeked carefully into glassless, shuttered windows, they saw only stillness, and dark, and mess.

Sheds, which Rosalie told her were bound to hold food, were barred. The barns, in which they might have found grain for the pigs and horses, were all guarded by howling, barking dogs that promised no food, but perhaps a bite or a scratch. Houses were locked tight, their doors and windows blocked with thick, wooden shutters and Rosalie, frustrated by these unexpected findings, cursed their bad luck and wished, fruitlessly, for an axe or shovel.

She'd break them down in a minute, she said. She'd force the door or smash the shutters, and maybe then, Finn would stop crying. But she had no tools, and there were none left out for her use, and their feet, which were weak and sore, did nothing whatsoever to the thick, solid wood.

Finn grew listless in his mother's arms. He'd begun by bartering, absolutely convinced that his mother, in a fit of meanness, was simply _hiding_ the biscuits from him, or that she had stored the tasty, dried meat down the front of her tunic. He'd investigated her thoroughly, stopping just shy of looking in her trousers, and when he found nothing to suit him, he had begun to cry.

Bella knew that toddlers of all makes and dispositions were renowned for throwing fits. She knew how they flailed and screamed, kicked and bit, and it annoyed her back home, when the cause was a wayward balloon or a coveted treat. She hated the screaming, the uncontrolled noise and chaos, but there was something about _this_ fit that made her feel nothing but pity.

Bella realized, as she watched Rosalie's fruitless attempts to soothe him, that she had never truly seen a hungry child. She'd seen children whose meals had come an hour too late, or whose meal had been rejected in violent fits of temper. She'd seen children denied favourite snacks or sugary treats before supper, but there had been nothing in her experience, until this very moment, to prepare her for the confused and painful suffering of a child who hadn't eaten in almost two days, and whose little body was wracked by the same terrible hunger pangs as her own.

The crying went on for hours longer than Bella thought it ever could. He wept all through the afternoon, switching between screaming, crying, wailing and kicking, until Rosalie had a new bruise on her thigh, where his little foot had dug in. He cried when they rested, stopping for breaks along the path they'd made, and when they ran, jogging brazenly through the grass when they caught sight of more empty, barred farmhouses. He cried as the sun went down, sinking beyond the western mountains, and he cried still when they caught the first glimpse of the lights— blazing, fiery torches lining the walls of the of the capital city, which glowed yellow and orange in the deepening darkness.

Finn did not look at the lights, which might have delighted him if his belly were full and his clothes warm and dry. He did not bring his head up, did not shift the slightest in his mother's grasp, even when Rosalie, astonished and wonderstruck, halted at the sight.

The city glittered through the rain.

"Gods above." Rosalie's face was as white as canvas, her eyes wide as saucers as her gaze fell on the city. Even when she nudged him, Finn remained draped over her shoulder and did not look, continuing to cry with his face buried deep in her tunic. Rosalie turned to Bella with astonished apprehension, her shoulders suddenly slumped.

"May the Gods help us," she said slowly, her voice trembling. "I've never seen anything like it in all my life… May the Gods help us both."

Bella, a palpable relief growing in her breast at the very _thought_ of an end to this journey, felt giddy and tearful all at once. They would be housed, once they reached the city. They would be safe. There would be a bath, and a meal, and a bed, and the baby would be settled, and calm…

"Come on," said Bella quickly. "We need to go. We're so close, Rose…"

But Rosalie, her eyes glued on the wide, high walls, did not move. She was staring blankly at the grandeur, taking in its many firelit torches that lit up like lamps along the main street. In the fading light, Bella could make out the great, iron gate, guarded on either side by tall, crenulated watchtowers, and the winding serpent of the western road, which she'd heard about in passing, but had never seen for herself. Beyond that lay the castle— a hazy silhouette that jutted into the sky like a spear, and even there, Bella could make out tiny, lit windows in its towers and halls.

Bella tugged Rosalie forward and she followed with heavy, reluctant steps. Bella felt lighter than ever, tripping through the rain-slicked grass, until they reached the mud of the road which was deeply rutted by wheeltracks, and made for a hard, sticky terrain.

Finn, empty of tears, lay desolately on Rose's shoulder, his face a mask of misery. The city did not cheer him— indeed, Bella doubted he knew what it was— and his white face looked more gaunt than ever as they neared the yellow lights at the gates. Bella felt his pain as deeply as if it were her own, but the promise of care and rest was more than enough to temper her misery. Rosalie said nothing, her mouth pressed in a hard line, and she walked with an uncharacteristic stiffness that made Bella hedge, but not stop.

The gate was a flurry of activity.

Late and dark though it was, the western road was aglow with life. Soldiers, paired two by two, walked the high, crenulated walls above them, their eyes staring down at the small gathering from behind visors of silver steel. Fires had been lit— three great, lively things that dried the earth around them to a hard, packed dust, and upon which rested great spits of meat, turned by pageboys who wore the King's colours. The people were gathered about a round, wooden table, some drinking, some laughing, and others eating, picking nibbles of cheese and bits of fruit from a great, heaping platter at the centre. One man played a pipe, its high, reedy music ringing off of the stone, and another group of men were drunk, playing a rowdy, raucous card game to pass the time. The smell of it all was delicious— even Finn perked up when they passed— but they did not stop to ask a bite. There would be food enough, Bella knew, once they reached the castle…

Bella rushed at the gate with single-minded determination, dragging Rosalie behind her, until a deep voice spoke sharply from the gloom.

"Halt!" it cried, and Bella, startled, stumbled back. "Halt!"

A man, tall and nondescript, emerged from the shadows near the gate, his fist clenched around the long, shining blade at his side. Bella felt an instinctive flash of fear— she'd had more than enough of fighting— and her hand went out to stop Rosalie, who had her arms wrapped tightly around her boy. Rosalie was glancing at the walls, where the archers had stopped to watch, and Bella felt a cold tingle in her chest when she saw that an arrow had been knocked, though the bow was not raised.

"State your purpose!" said the soldier, pulling her attention back. In the light, Bella saw that he wore the King's colours too, the familiar red and gold making her heart pound in her chest. "State your purpose, madam, and tell why you seek to enter!"

Bella approached the gate with slow, careful confusion. She had spent enough time in the Capital to know that the gates had never been locked before, and certainly never guarded by armed soldiers, and she was at a loss, glancing nervously at the growing crowd of soldiers atop the wall.

When the light hit her face, making her squint, the soldier reeled back at once, his eyes aglow with amazement.

"Gods above, what's happened to you?" he demanded. He reached out a hand, pulling it free of his glove, and ran it over her cheek, his bare finger brushing gently under her eye. It was a strangely familiar gesture and he seemed to realize it too, for he pulled away as if she'd burned him, his glove forgotten on the ground at their feet. He reached for a lamp, plucking one from a hook on the stone wall, and held it to her face in concern, his eyes roving up and down the marks on her cheeks and neck. The light made her eyes water and he pulled it away only slightly, glancing warily towards the gate, where more men stood waiting.

"Where have you come from?" he asked, a little more gently this time. Rosalie, still dumb with fear, said nothing, and Bella shifted awkwardly.

"We came from the mountains," she said slowly. "We need to get home."

"If home's in here, you'll have to wait until morning," said the man, and Bella felt her stomach drop. "The city's under curfew… haven't you heard?"

"We've been… away," said Bella awkwardly, and the man stepped back from her, his eyes narrowed. "We had no idea."

He stared at her, glancing only briefly at Rose and Finn.

"If you've got family inside, we'll let them know you've arrived," said the man slowly. "You can meet them at dawn when the gates open."

"I…" Bella glanced back at Rose, who had _no_ family here in the city, and hedged. "We…"

The soldier, staring piercingly at her again, took another step back.

"By the Gods…" he hissed, his eyes hot with fury when he saw the bruises on her arms. "By the Gods! Who inflicted this violence on you?"

"I don't know," said Bella at once, and the man's face darkened. "But…"

"A healer should see to them," he said, and this time, he sounded unsure. "The wound on your neck…"

Bella brought her hand up, feeling the ragged scab.

"That's a nasty cut if ever I saw one… Ruben!"

The last word was shouted, and it made Bella start. Rosalie, creeping slowly up behind her, placed a worried hand on her shoulder, her fingers shaking.

"I know the healer," whispered Bella gently when the man turned away. "Carlisle is a good man…"

Another soldier, smaller than the first, appeared in their circle of light, and he blinked, astonished, when he saw Bella's face.

"Sir…"

"Go and fetch a healer, boy," ordered the first soldier. "This woman is injured, and I'd not like her to wait out in the cold until morning."

"Sir…" The boy— for he really was little more than a child— spoke with sudden excitement. "Sir, it's the woman!"

"I know, you daft fool," the first soldier snapped. "It's _two_ women, if you'd use your eyes, and a child, too… fetch a healer at once!"

"Not _a_ woman," said the second agitatedly. _"The_ woman, sir! The missing Lady!"

The first soldier froze, astonished and dumb.

"I'd know her anywhere!" cried the youth, and this time, he gave Bella a low, respectful bow. The older man simply stared. "I was there, you know, at Terosankta, when we burned the dead and fought the West…"

Rosalie, whimpering with terror, seemed to sag against Bella, her whole body trembling.

"The Lady?" The first soldier, still hesitant, glanced nervously about him. "There is a curfew…"

"She must be brought in!" said the boy, shaking his head quickly. "She must be brought back at once!"

"Fetch the Commander," said the first soldier in a rush, and Bella felt a thrill of hope. "Fetch the Commander! He'd know her too, and he's got control of the city."

Summarily, the boy was dispatched, and Bella watched him with growing anticipation as he bounded off on quick, light feet, disappearing into the guard tower and down the long, winding road that was just visible behind the gates.

"My Lady…" The first soldier, looking ashamed and astonished all at once, placed his hand at her back. "My Lady, come with me…"

Bella, pulling Rosalie along with her, followed the man into the warm, dry guard tower.

They sat, bewildered and exhausted, on chairs of hard, polished wood. The soldier, whose name Bella still did not know, poured both Rosalie and Bella cups of water from an ewer by the window, which they gratefully accepted. Rosalie drank hers slowly, cajoling Finn to take a sip, and when the man noticed the child again, as wary and frightened as his mother, he shyly offered Rosalie a small, sweet cookie, which made Finn's face light up with interest.

He scarfed it down like a mad thing and the soldier, noting his thinness, offered him two more.

Bella said nothing, and Rosalie did not move, until the door to the guardhouse was flung open unceremoniously and the light was blocked by a massive, hulking figure that Bella, in a glory of relief, recognized at once.

"Emmett!" she gasped, and the man, who was staring at her in astonishment, let his helmet fall to the ground beside him. He blinked at her, his face a mask of shock, before Bella, in a wave of impulsive relief, flung herself upon him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, shaky hug.

He patted her awkwardly on the back for a few moments before he cleared his throat and stepped away, his face mottled and shy.

"Where in all hell have you been?" he asked softly, and Bella, feeling tears pricking, shook her head. Emmett knelt before her, his face suddenly gentle, and took in her injuries with cold fury, his eyes lingering on the wound at her throat. "How in God's name did you get back here?"

"We walked," Bella said, her voice thick and tremulous. "We walked…"

"Walked," said Emmett lamely, shaking his head to clear it. "You _walked?"_

"For _days,"_ she gasped, and with a sudden ferocity, she felt her knees begin to shake. "Through the jungle, and then the farms…"

"I thought she was another pilgrim, fleeing the West," said the other soldier anxiously. "I didn't realize who she was until Ruben spoke up."

"And what a good thing he did," said Emmett softly. "We've been looking _everywhere_ for you. Edward, Carlisle, and Jasper are on their way back from the West as we speak, where they've been searching the jungle…"

Bella said nothing, sniffling pathetically, until she was handed a handkerchief.

"Edward's been an absolute nightmare," continued Emmett, "what with this curfew and the Council…"

Bella did not know what he was talking about, and she didn't have the energy to ask.

"And you've brought a friend," said Emmett quietly, glancing curiously at Rosalie for the first time since his arrival. "I don't think I've had the pleasure." He winked cheekily at Finn, who was scounging for cookie crumbs at the table, and the child quailed at once, climbing his mother in his haste to shy away.

The sight made Emmett frown, and Bella saw a new, pitying anger brewing in him again.

"No need to fear me, little one," said Emmett, though his words did nothing to comfort the boy. "You're safe here, with us…"

Rose, trembling from head to foot, glanced agonizingly at Bella.

"This is Rose," said Bella slowly, and at once, she felt a new, nauseous fear. What would they say, when they found out who she was? "She helped me escape the jungle, and the men who pursued us…"

"Men?" said Emmett sharply, his attention snapping back to her. "What men?"

"The men in the jungle… the ones looking for…"

Emmett listened closely, his mouth downturned, and he frowned when Bella hesitated, glancing back at her companion.

"Looking for what?" he asked lowly, looking at Rose with a new suspicion. "Do you know who they were?"

"I…"

"They were awful men," said Bella at once, and Rosalie quivered back into the shadows. She whispered to Finn, too low for Bella to hear, and the boy shook his head in fierce rebuttal, making Rose's face fall. "Terrible, awful men with swords…"

Rosalie placed Finn on the chair, where he whimpered and clung, and she turned to face Emmett with a kind of shaking courage that Bella had never seen in her before. No matter what Rosalie said to them, Bella knew that Emmett would not hurt her, but she supposed that Rosalie did not. To her, Emmett must seem like a coarse and brutal man, what with his sheer size, the great, sharp sword at his waist, and the nasty scars that crossed his arms, evidence of a fierce warrior who did not shy away from violence.

"They were looking for us." Rosalie's pretty face was proud, though her voice was unsteady. "My boy and me."

Emmett drew himself up, his arms folded.

"And why would they do that?" he asked slowly. "Who are they?"

"I don't know who they are," said Rosalie, "but I _do_ know why we're wanted."

"Go on."

"I…" Bella, feeling a pitying worry growing in the pit of her stomach, was astonished when Rosalie, kissing him fiercely, scooped Finn into her arms and passed him off to her. The boy squawked in protest, squirming fiercely against Bella's hold, but one sharp, rebuking glance from his mother settled him down, and he sat, still and stiff in Bella's arms. She bounced him, as much for her own comfort as his, and Emmett watched this display with growing concern. Rosalie hesitated before she drew the rough, bloody knife from her waistband, laying it gently on the table, and Emmett held his hand up for silence, stopping the clatter of shields and blades that had arisen at the sight of the weapon.

"I ask for peace," said Rosalie at once, peering so desperately at Emmett that even he paused. He took her knife carefully in hand, slipping it into an empty scabbard at his waist. "I ask for peace, and not violence…"

The room seemed to crackle with electricity and Emmett, saying nothing, stared at her with hard eyes.

"My name is Rosalie," she began, her voice cracking with strain. "My boy— my son— is called Finn." She swallowed hard, tears threatening to fall before she mastered them. The child squirmed at the sound of his name and Emmett glanced at him again, the hardness melting at the sight of his frailty. Rosalie took a deep breath, spreading her hands on the table, and Bella saw her close her eyes in a silent prayer for strength before she spoke again, her words biting like a sword against stone.

"My husband— his father— is Rojce of the House of Lamman, brother to the Western commander Jamos, and I come to your city to beg your King for mercy."

 **A/N: They're finally home!**

 **There is ANOTHER updated version of the map on my Weebly site if anyone is interested (moonchild707 . weebly . com). I'll keep adding details as the story unfolds, to make everything more relevant. I've added some minor waterways and another "X" to show just where Bella and Rose exited the forest, in case you're curious. The scale has also changed to better fit the timeline of the story.**

 **As always, let me know what you think!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"Put your weapons down!"

Bella's eyes were wide. Her arms, stiff and sore, went limp when the child wiggled free, tumbling to the floor with a hard _smack_ of knees on wood. He scrambled through the legs of the soldier in front of them before Bella could grab him back, and in an agony of terror Rosalie plucked him up, stumbling when he threw his full weight at her.

"Put your weapons _down!"_ shouted Emmett again and he rounded on his men, filled with a hot ire. "Put them down at once!"

Slowly, as if in dreadful reluctance, Bella heard the scrape of swords in their scabbards. She stared about the room, shaking with fright, at the five lively faces about her, each trained so determinedly on Rosalie that it made Bella's blood run cold. Anger, icy and fresh, marred the face of the man nearest Rose and he glared at her so fiercely that Bella saw her shrink away. The youngest soldier, the one called Ruben, was pink with surprise, looking for all the world like a puppy among a pack of dogs— trembling, excitable, and too eager to please. The two others seemed passive— they rested against the wall once their weapons were sheathed, their arms crossed over their armoured, metal chests— but Bella was not fooled. There was a wariness in them, as there was in all the others, and it made them vigilant and stiff. Emmett was frowning, sizing up Rosalie and Finn with careful appraisal, but to Bella's infinite relief, he threatened no violence.

Finn was weeping again, his feet digging into Rose's spine, and when the sound rose in a sharp crescendo Emmett's concentration was broken.

"This is news, indeed," he sighed. "Grave and strange news…"

Rosalie seemed as if she might fall and Emmett saw it too, so he urged her gently onto the wooden chair she'd abandoned just minutes before. Emmett leaned across the table, resting his arms atop the wood, and watched her carefully, making sure she would not slide off the chair in a dead faint. The child did not move again, so stuck was he to his mother's side, and Rosalie did not pry him away this time. She glanced at Bella, her eyes liquid and soft, and for the first time Bella saw a vulnerability in Rosalie that had not been there during their trek through the trees.

Rosalie had known what to do while they were out in the wild. She'd known which paths to take, how to set up traps and snares to get them food. She'd been confident out there, in her own element, but she was frightened here, uncertain and lost, and it made Bella's heart throb with sudden, molten pity.

"She helped me." Bella spoke softly but the sound was loud in the hush and all heads, minus Finn's, swung around to face her. The soldiers watched her with a simple kindness that they did not spare for Rosalie, and it made anger spark in her heart. "She helped me escape. I'd be _dead_ without her."

Rosalie bit her lip, saying nothing.

"Indeed," said Emmett finally, turning back to the forlorn figure before him. "Indeed, I believe it…"

The angry soldier bristled.

"You'd not have needed to _escape_ had she not been on your tail in the first place," he growled. "She brought the danger with her and so should _not_ be heralded a saviour."

Bella bit back her ire.

"She _helped_ me," she repeated. "The men may have sought her, this is true, but I'd have been lost in those trees for certain."

The surly man fell silent.

"I walked in circles, I'm sure of it," said Bella quietly. "It's hard walking out there, and there are many things to avoid…"

Ruben, bright-eyed, nodded in agreement.

"She's not wrong, Joro," he chirped. "The wilds near the mountains are treacherous…"

"It took us almost four days to escape the trees." Rosalie spoke for the first time, and her voice was thin. "We had to move slowly, or else we'd find ourselves at the bottom of a crevasse, or so deep in the trees that we'd lose the light. I admit, we were lost for a time…"

Bella was shocked by this revelation, her eyes snapping up at once, and Rosalie watched her with an apologetic trepidation.

"But I righted our path again the day after. I had intended to bring us out to the north of the Miner's Cave, but alas, circumstances did not allow…"

"Circumstances?" Emmett leaned forward and Rosalie, surprised, pulled back instinctively. Her fingers tightened around Finn and he squirmed, and Emmett, taken aback, leaned away.

"We were…" Rose glanced at Bella again. "The men…"

"They found us," said Bella softly. "We were resting— or _I_ was— and they came upon us in the night."

"And there was… struggle?" said Emmett softly, his angry gaze raking over her injuries again.

"Yes. But we won out."

The soldiers, glancing carefully at Rosalie again, murmured.

"Did you, now?" Emmett stood, stepping back to Bella. He pulled her around to face him, looking for all the world as if he'd like to hear the whole tale, and watched her face with disconcerting seriousness. "And how did you manage that, little one?"

Flustered and flushed, Bella eyed the knife at his waist. Rosalie, standing once again, hugged Finn even closer.

"I killed him," said Rose in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "He had _her,_ " she jerked her chin at Bella, "with a knife to her throat. Finn had run off. He was going to kill her, if I didn't surrender, and so I killed him."

Emmett's eyebrows rose so quickly that Bella almost missed the movement.

"You killed a man?" he demanded, his voice low and serious. _"You_ killed a man?"

Rosalie shifted, her pride flaring at the sound of his disbelief.

"Yes," she said. "I stabbed him, twice, and his body is there still, in the jungle."

Emmett blew out a long, harsh breath.

"By the treeline?" he guessed quickly, and Bella's head snapped up. "By the wheat fields in the west?"

"Yes…" said Rosalie slowly, and Bella shook her head. "Yes, by the treeline…"

"He's been found, then," said Emmett shortly and the soldiers bristled once again. "They've found him. It's why Edward left the city…"

At the sound of the King's name, Bella felt a pang of nervous energy.

"She _had_ to kill him," said Bella at once, though her words went unacknowledged. "She had no choice, Emmett, for he would have killed me, and then _her_ , and then the baby…"

Finn wiggled again, refusing Rosalie's request to put him down, and continued to cling to her like a monkey.

"Killing carries weight," said Emmett after a long moment of silence. "You understand, Mistress, that you may not walk freely through the city with that crime over you?"

Rosalie paled, her lips trembling.

"She had no choice…"

Bella's hot, angry words were cut short when Emmett brought his hand up for silence. Bella bit her tongue, staring at Rosalie's agonized face, and when Rose reached out to hand Finn back to her, she stepped forward at once.

The boy, petrified, screeched until his mother lost the will to dispatch him, so she kissed him instead, her eyes bright with tears.

"Am I under arrest?" she asked quietly and Emmett, troubled and heartsore, considered her for a long moment before he spoke.

"I think you must be," he said. "It's not within my authority to grant you freedom when you so clearly admit your guilt."

Rosalie began to cry now, her face crumpling like wet paper. She kissed the top of Finn's head, breathing in the scent of his hair and Emmett, growing more and more troubled by the minute, shook his head.

"You are a Lady," he said quickly, "and so will be treated gently."

Rosalie said nothing. Emmett turned instead to Ruben.

"You will take her to the lower chambers," he sighed. "Put her in the southern rooms."

Rosalie jumped up at once, her face pale with grief.

"Not my son," she gasped, shaking her head so violently that the hair around her face came loose. "Not my boy…"

She tried to shove the child at Bella again, and Bella did not protest, but the child would not be moved. He clung to his mother like glue, and no amount of crying or coaxing from his mother could dissuade him.

"You aren't going to a dungeon," placated Emmett. "The rooms are above ground, and not so mean."

"He's only a baby," she whimpered. "Surely, you will not imprison a _child!"_

"He's not _imprisoned,_ and neither are you," Emmett said gently. "You are a Lady of high rank, and…"

"He'll not be free to leave!" said Rosalie, and Bella heard the anger in her voice even if Emmett did not. "We're to be locked up, and he's just a _baby…"_

"The child will _not_ be contained," soothed Emmett. "I don't know how it is in the West, but here, we are not in the habit of putting children in cages."

Rosalie shook her head again. Emmett, sighing, stared at her wearily.

"If you demand it, I will take the boy from you," he said softly. "I could take him, and he'd be housed and fed as is the right of any child in this Kingdom, but tell me…" He glanced at the boy again, who had clasped his fingers together at the back of her neck. "Do you think it would be more hurtful to him to stay with you, where he will be fed, and cleaned, and clothed, or for him to be torn from you, when he's so obviously heartsore and frightened?"

Bella, taken aback, felt her anger melt away. Rosalie too seemed similarly affected and she stared at him, her cheeks aglow with moisture.

"How do I know you're truthful?" she asked lowly. "How do I know you won't throw us in a dungeon and wash your hands of us? I don't care if you imprison _me…_ I'd _deserve_ it… but I will _not_ let you lock my baby up."

Emmett's head fell back and he let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"We do _not_ mistreat children," he growled again. "I have control of this city while the King is away, and so I have the power to take prisoners as I see fit, but you are _not_ a danger. Indeed, you've been a _help…_ " He glanced thoughtfully at Bella, his lips pursed. "But it is _not_ in my power to change laws."

Rosalie said nothing, looking bold. Emmett's lips twitched, as if he might laugh at her, but he stopped himself before he could.

"Our laws here are clear," he explained. "We do _not_ imprison children, no matter what their origins. No matter their _crime,_ for that matter…"

He shook his head again, distracted, and faced her with renewed energy.

"The King will return by dawn," he continued. "It is his decision to make about what we should do with you, and his alone. You will be treated gently, as I've said, and your boy will be cared for, as is our custom. It is your choice to make, Mistress…"

Rosalie stared at him, torn between disbelief and terror. She did not speak for a long while and the silence drew out, and Emmett, growing impatient, broke it first.

"So what will it be?" he asked. "Will you tear that child from his mother, where he is so desperate to be, or will you let her keep him close, where he might be safe and loved?"

Rose's face fell at once, and she nodded her head minutely.

"Good," said Emmett, and he turned to face his men. "Take her to the southern rooms and see that they are washed and fed. Light the fires and seek out bedding, if you must, and tell _no one_ that they're there. They're not a spectacle to be goggled at. You are to guard the door until I send you a replacement, and you will tell the King of this meeting when you are summoned on the morrow."

Two soldiers— Ruben and an unnamed companion— guided Rosalie from the room. Bella watched her go, her stomach roiling with unspoken fears and worries until she saw them through the window on the main road, making their slow, careful pilgrimage towards the great, towering castle in the distance.

The room was filled with deathly silence in their wake and only when Bella felt her knees weaken did anyone move. She sat quietly on a stool, her head in her hands, trembling and white with shock.

Emmett's attention was on her at once.

"Are you hurt badly?" he asked, more gently and softly than he ever had before. "I didn't even think to ask… did that brute do you any great injury?"

Bella shook her head.

"No," she said. "No. Only what you see, and a few extra bruises in places you can't." She felt itchy and stiff with grime. "How long will Rose be held?"

Emmett sat back, thoughtful.

"That's Edward's decision to make," he repeated. "I can't make that choice for him."

Bella frowned, sad and troubled.

"She had no choice, Emmett," she whispered, shaky. "She had no choice but to do what she did. She was protecting herself and her boy… and _me_ , for that matter."

"Hush." Emmett patted her hair, awkward and unsure. "Hush now. I know."

"And she's pregnant," said Bella suddenly, the recollection making her start. "She's…"

"Shh…" Emmett shook his head at her. "I figured as much. Her top stretched when the boy grabbed her, and it was plain, even to me."

He reddened with sudden discomfort, as if he didn't like to be caught looking, and Bella fell silent again, her body heavy and sore.

"You must get to the castle," said Emmett after a long, quiet pause. His gaze lingered on her throat, where the wound itched and pulled. "That scratch looks like it might fester, and I don't like to sit idle while it does."

Bella frowned and glanced down to the floor, her heart suddenly throbbing.

"And I expect," he continued gently, "You'd like a meal." The very thought made her mouth water. "And there'll be a bath for you, too…"

Bella shivered in anticipation.

"Come," he said. "The road is long, especially at night, but I think my horse will not be so shy, this time, and is more than able to hold two."

Bella followed him out of the tower, her feet tripping down the narrow, stone steps.

* * *

When they reached the gates after a long, punishing ride, Bella felt like she might burst into tears at the sight of the tall, red castle, towering up over the high, buttressed walls. Emmett's horse ran quickly and the great portcullis was raised for him in a moment, and they jogged through into the yard where the stable master waited, his worn, lined face alight with a grand smile.

"Safe at last!" he cried and reached up to help Bella down. She would have fallen, stiff as she was, had he not caught her, setting her gently on her feet. The man shook Emmett's hand, beaming, and stepped aside.

"She'd do better for a meal and a wash," said the man appraisingly, and Bella's cheeks flamed. "And I declare! She's as skinny as she was when the King first brought her!"

Emmett chuckled, shrugging.

"Alive is what matters most, Marco," he replied. "Alive, and well enough to tell her tale…"

The old man squinted at her, taking in her injuries with concern before Emmett shuffled her behind him to spare her the indignity.

"Where is the Lady Esme?" he asked and Bella, lip between her teeth, glanced anxiously at the castle. "Have someone fetch her, Marco, and tell her of our news."

"The Lady is gone," said Marco regretfully. "Left on horseback nigh on two hours ago, with three guards and a groom."

"Whatever for?" demanded Emmett. "We never saw her go!"

"Took the back channels, if you please." Marco glanced towards the great, sprawling yard, which had been eaten up by the night. "The palace guards let her through. I know little of it, Sir, but I gather she was off to find her husband."

"She'll be miles away!" Emmett frowned, surly. "Why did she need Carlisle?"

"She woke without him, and with both her nephews gone," he said. "The servants told her why the King had gone, and she went to see for herself if it really was the Lady they'd found."

He bowed gently towards Bella, who felt her stomach twist.

"I suppose, then…" Emmett peered at her speculatively, "that we must send for Marta."

"Indeed, sir."

"Have you a groom nearby?" he asked. "Or a page?"

"Aye…" Marco glanced over his shoulder where a child, no older than 12, was standing awestruck in the shadows. "Come here, boy!"

The boy scrambled forward, his face alight and eager.

"Roberto," said Emmett in mild surprise. "Good, good…"

"Sir." The child bowed to Emmett. "My Lady…"

He bowed even lower to her, and Bella cleared her throat.

"Fetch me Marta, child," said Emmett gently. "Go as quick as you can. Tell her the Lady is here, and is in need of her services."

"Yes, sir." The child bobbed again. "Shall I also fetch a bird?"

Bella frowned, confused.

"Bring one to the Western end," said Emmett quickly. "You're right, Roberto. I must send the King a missive."

Her heart hammered again.

"In the meantime," said Emmett, "I will take the Lady up myself. Have Marta meet us there, would you?"

"Yes sir!" He nodded quickly. "Yes, of course…"

He glanced at Bella again, his boyish face aglow.

"Welcome home, My Lady," he said, and Bella's cheeks flushed pink. "We've missed you."

And with that the child was off, running on long, nimble legs towards the door in the stone, which slammed shut with an echo behind him.

"Take the horse and feed him well," Emmett said, patting his chestnut mount on the rump. "I'll take the Lady upstairs. When Roberto returns, be sure to send him with your quickest bird."

"Aye, sir, of course…" Marco took the reins with ease, ignoring the beast when it shook its long mane in his face. "Of course. Rest well, Lady. The King will be overjoyed to see you."

Bella thanked him quickly as Emmett took her arm, wrapping it gently through his own as he led her down the cobbled path to the door.

They walked with dizzying swiftness through the dark, empty corridors, and though Emmett was mindful of her weakness, he urged her on more quickly than she would have liked. The castle was dark. Doors left ajar on landings of cool stone opened into darkened rooms, their contents and occupants left in obscure mystery. Oil lamps, wrought from iron and plated with glittering glass glowed far up on the walls, interspersed every now and again with great, flaming torches. Their footsteps echoed beneath them, bouncing off of the walls to echo in the high cathedral ceiling, and it was a better herald than a trumpet. They passed servants' quarters where doors opened to reveal pale, sleep-stained faces, peering out into the gloom with curiosity and concern. The women— maids, by the looks of them— bowed and scurried away when they saw Emmett, but the footmen, butlers, and waiters, all tousled and wrinkled, stared curiously after them, nodding briefly to Emmett when he passed, Bella in hand.

The murmurs in their wake made Bella blush.

"We're not far," said Emmett eventually, leading her around another corner that opened into a long hallway that ended in the throne room. "Just up and around and we'll be there."

When they passed the spiral staircase that led to the blue rooms in the northeast, Bella faltered, frowning.

"Not there tonight," Emmett said gently. "Those rooms aren't prepared, and he'll want you close when he arrives."

"Who will?" Bella stumbled after him, her legs aching. "Who wants me near?"

Emmett didn't answer, but ushered her instead through another set of towering wooden doors.

"Just up and around," he said gently, urging her on. They walked in silence for another few minutes before they reached a staircase and Bella, exhausted, lagged behind.

"I'm sorry," Emmett said, glancing warily around. "I know you're tired…"

Bella found her fortitude, or what little of it she had left, and immediately began to climb, following Emmett's punishing pace until they reached the top, whereupon she was graced by the sight of a long, high landing.

"I've never seen this part," she said, breathless. "Where are we?"

"The western half of the castle," said Emmett quickly. "Beneath us are the throne room and the council chambers."

Bella glanced out a window, which opened up to a view of the distant mountains. The city, which lay to the south, was just visible by its twinkling lights if she craned her neck, and she noted with only slight concern that the landing was dark, unlit by any candle or lamp.

Emmett didn't seem to mind. As if he'd been here a hundred times before, he moved steadily towards the end of the hall and threw open the only door on the wall, stepping aside to let her through.

The heat and light was marvellous and Bella, falling short at the door, blinked in the sudden brightness.

The room was made of a light brown stone, like tea doused with cold, creamy milk. Tall diamond-paned windows looked north and south, their sills laden with wild, potted plants. The sashes were pulled back, red velvet tied with ornate golden string, and a burgundy rug with golden accents was laid out before the hearth. The floor was made from a warm wood stained so dark it was almost black, and a similar wood had been used to make two tables and six chairs, which were scattered liberally about the space. One table beneath the southern window was laden with parchment and books bound in soft leather covers, and quills with inky nibs had dripped onto the floor. Near the hearth, which was made of the same stone as the walls, were laid a long sofa-like piece of furniture and two cushy armchairs, all upholstered in the same red as the curtains. They called to Bella, who felt her weariness beating her down, so close to a reprieve.

"Marta is coming," said Emmett gently, nudging her further into the room. She went without complaint. "She will set you up with a bath and some food, and then you can sleep."

"Where are we?" asked Bella again, admiring the room as he sat her at the empty table near the door. "Whose rooms are these?"

He grinned at her, his head cocked.

"Edward's," he said simply. "These are the King's rooms."

Bella felt suddenly shy.

"I shouldn't be here," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "It's not…"

"You absolutely _should,"_ said Emmett at once. "There's nowhere else on Earth that he'd rather you be."

"It's a bit… invasive, no?" she queried. She began to kick her feet beneath the table, her shoulders hunched. "It's not… proper."

Emmett brushed her off at once.

"Edward, bless him, is too proper for his own good," he assured her. "You'll come to no harm here, I can promise you that."

Bella shook her head.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I know he wouldn't… _hurt_ me."

"Then what?" Emmett leaned back on his chair, bringing the front two legs off of the floor. "You'll be comfortable here."

"It's _his_ space," said Bella quickly. "Not mine. I don't want to intrude."

Emmett barked a laugh.

"You're not intruding, I promise," he said. There was a noise from outside, and he let the legs of his chair fall back to the floor. "Just… _relax."_

"Where did you put Rose?" she asked softly. "Is she in the castle, too?"

"She's downstairs," said Emmett gently. "Perhaps not arrived yet, as she is on foot."

"Downstairs?"

"In the guest quarters," said Emmett. "Where Edward puts the Councilmen who stay overnight."

Bella, slightly mollified by this, nodded.

"She will be treated well," said Emmett again. "She is not in a dungeon."

"And Finn…"

"Will be given every courtesy," said Emmett softly. "He is barely out of babyhood, and will be given everything he needs."

"Will she be allowed out?" Another noise, footsteps this time, rang from the hall. "How long will you hold her?"

"Until the King sets her free," replied Emmett. "She's the King's prisoner, not mine…"

"But…"

Emmett sighed, watching her with pitying eyes.

"She is your friend, I know," he murmured, "and she has done well by you."

"Yes, she has." Bella's vehement agreement was cut short. He raised his hands, begging for silence, and continued once he got it.

"But she is a… unique case. I don't know what this all means."

"What _what_ means?" Bella asked. "She told you everything about her."

"Yes," Emmett nodded patiently, "but I do not know what is to be done with her, given who she is."

"Who she is?"

"She is the wife of the enemy," said Emmett quickly, and his eyes were sharp and shrewd. "The boy is our enemy's _son."_

"He's an evil man…"

"I don't doubt it," said Emmett at once, cutting her off. "It's difficult, trying to make a decent life in the West, and I don't doubt for one minute that that woman's husband is unkind."

"He's more than unkind," said Bella hotly. A knock sounded on the door. "He's downright _cruel."_

Emmett listened, frowning.

"He strikes her," said Bella quickly. "He _hits_ her, though she carries his child, and she fled when…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"She fled when he hit her _son."_ She whispered the words, as if they were swears, and the knock sounded again. Emmett rose from his seat. "He hit _Finn—_ left welts on his legs from a belt— and she ran in the night to get them both away."

"And she risked her _other_ child in the process," said Emmett, tired and sad. _"That_ is how I know she's honest… no good woman would risk her baby so recklessly unless she had no other choice."

The knock sounded out again, and Bella heard a plaintive voice behind the door.

"Commander?" It was the child, Roberto, and Emmett took the latch. "Commander, I've brought…"

Emmett swung the door open, startling the child and a woman, who stood behind the boy, arms laden.

"Marta," finished the boy shyly. "And a tub. And a bird."

Emmett stepped aside without comment and a flurry of activity rose in the room at once.

The boy, carrying a stately, green parrot, moved towards the King's desk, setting the animal down on an ornate, wooden perch that Bella hadn't noticed. Bella admired the creature, watching it ruffle its tail and begin to preen, drawing its hooked, orange beak through its feathers and fluff. The woman scurried in behind him, moving quickly to the fireside, and two footmen that Bella hadn't seen in the corridor carried a massive, wooden tub between them, setting it upright on the rug beside the fire.

"That will do, gentlemen, thank you," said the woman, and both bowed to Emmett and Bella before they took their leave without a word. "Thank you, Bertie."

The child, Roberto, grinned up at her impishly.

"Go off to bed now, before you keel over," said the woman kindly. "You'll be exhausted come morning, and His Grace will likely call on you at dawn."

"Yes ma'am." He turned to Bella, beaming. "See you tomorrow, probably."

Bella, grinning despite herself, thanked him gently. Emmett sat himself at the desk without another word and began to rifle for a clean parchment, ignoring the gentle chirp of the parrot, who watched him curiously.

"My Lady?" Bella started, wheeling around when the woman spoke. "My Lady, come to the fireside… goodness me! Such wounds! And you must be _famished…_ look at how thin you are!"

The lady, who was surveying her with kindly brown eyes, had taken Bella's hands in hers. The woman was older than Bella might have thought when she'd first arrived— her hair was a solid, steely grey, tied back in a tight knot at the back of her neck, and her hands were wrinkled and spotted with age. She was thin and wiry, without a scrap of fat anywhere on her, and she urged Bella forward with a strength that she had not expected. Her face was long, though not witchy, with fine features and wide, open eyes. When Bella studied her face in the light, she thought she must have been called pretty in her youth, but that girlish beauty had melted into womanly grace and she looked stately now, and held herself tall and straight.

"My name is Marta," said the woman softly, ushering Bella onto the sofa. "I'm the Head of Household in the castle. I take care of the staff— most especially the maids— and oversee the kitchens, the storerooms, the larder, the buttery, and the laundry."

"I'm Bella," she replied softly. "I'm…"

"Oh, duck, I know who you are," said Marta fondly. "We _all_ know, don't we, Master Emmett?"

Emmett, jolted from his writing, glanced up at her with a grin.

"Sorry to wake you, Marta," he said easily, glancing over the short message he'd scribed. "I know its late."

"No harm, young Sir… no harm at all."

She took Bella's face in her hands, her lips pursing as she inventoried the bruises she found.

"This little duck was almost caught, I think!" she announced, releasing her face. "I sense a story to be told, though it shall _not_ be spoken tonight. No…"

Bella kept her mouth shut, feeling thoroughly mothered.

"No. Tonight, a bath, and a good, hot meal, and then perhaps you'll let me comb your hair and we can put you right to bed."

"Where will you put her?" asked Emmett quickly. He was tying the message to the bird's leg and the creature held it out, still and serene.

"There are no aired rooms ready," said Marta at once, "but I think the King will not mind?"

"Absolutely not," agreed Emmett. "He won't mind a bit."

"Good." Marta shuffled Bella towards the tub, which was as dry as a bone. "Good…"

Bella stared into the wooden basin, her legs itching to get in. Emmett said nothing as he cracked open the window, setting the bird on his hand, and releasing it out into the dark, cool night, where it shone like a great flying emerald until it vanished, chirping noisily, into the blackness.

Marta said nothing and did not move to touch Bella again, staring pointedly at Emmett who had seated himself comfortably at the desk again.

"If you don't mind, _Sir,"_ she began testily, "the _Lady_ would like to bathe."

"Oh." Emmett, embarrassed, rose to his feet. "I'm sorry…"

Marta, raising an eyebrow, looked pointedly at the door.

"I know, I know…" He glanced at Bella, frowning. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes," she said swiftly. "Yes, Emmett. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," he returned. _"Quite_ welcome…"

"She'll be right as rain once we get her to bed," said Marta swiftly. "It's just a pity the Lady Esme isn't here to see her off! She'll be cross with herself come morning, and that's a fact…"

"I'll send two men to guard the door," said Emmett, turning towards the exit. "You won't be disturbed, Bella…"

"And if you'd be so kind," said Marta swiftly, "you can also send for Imi, the scullery maid. Tell her that the linens in the King's chambers need changing, and the Lady needs some clothes."

"Yes ma'am." Emmett bowed to her. "Anything else?"

Marta paused, thinking.

"I don't think so," she said finally. "That's all, good sir. Now if you would…" She jerked her chin at the door.

"I'm off!" he said at once, raising his hands in defense. "No need to shoo me, Marta…"

She flapped a towel at him, pushing him out into the hallway.

"Don't forget, now," she ordered. Her finger waggled in his face. "Fetch me Imi, and fetch me those soldiers."

"Aye, aye!" He saluted her jokingly and Marta smothered a smile. "I'm off!"

He waved once at Bella before he disappeared down the steps and Bella was left alone with Marta, who surveyed her quietly from the door.

"Now, little duck, you set right there until we get this tub sorted, eh?" She crouched at Bella's knee, patting it softly. "You just rest, and let us make it right."

Bella, unable and unwilling to argue, said nothing in protest.

Four maids, as young and fresh as Alice, began to filter in with steel pails full of hot, steaming water. They carried them two-by-two, as the great weight was too heavy for one, and Bella sat an hour by the fireside, picking dirt off of her trousers, while the tub slowly filled. The water smelled sweet, as if it had been perfumed by some floral oil and the wet heat made her drowsy, so she rested her eyes.

Marta woke her with a gentle shake, helping her up off of the sofa. To Bella's astonished embarrassment, she began to strip her of her soiled, stinking clothes.

"Nothing new to us, little duck," she said busily when Bella brought an arm to her chest, shielding herself. "We used to help our late Queen bathe all the time…"

The girls by the wall, all staring politely at the rug, frowned in unison at the reminder. When Bella was fully naked and shivering, one of them brought a pail of water to the fireside, in which rested a clean, soft cloth.

"We'll sluice you down first," said Marta, "to get the worst of the dirt off. By the heavens, child, your feet!"

Marta had caught sight of them, now, and they were red and raw. She shook her head, troubled and disgusted, and sat her back on one of the wooden chairs.

"Wash gently," she ordered, handing Bella the cloth. She took it gratefully, dragging the white linen over her arms and hands. The water in the pail turned murky at once when Bella dipped the rag back in, and it was as brown as soup when she finished, dabbing painfully at the wound on her throat.

When Marta, satisfied that the worst of it had been cleaned away, helped her into the tub, Bella sunk into it with a gasp.

Warmth and perfume surrounded her like a quilt. The scent, which reminded Bella of lavender, wafted up in plumes of steam, seeping into the pores of her face. She rested against the side of the tub, sinking past her neck in the hot, clean water, and before she knew it she'd closed her eyes again, her ears muffled by the water at her face.

She felt the gentle, soft hands of a maid drawing her fingers through her tangled hair and she gasped, her eyes snapping open, when she brushed the sore, hairless spot.

"I'm sorry," gasped the girl, jumping back in alarm. "I'm _terribly_ sorry, My Lady…"

"Not your fault," Bella said, sitting up straight in the tub. She brought her own hand up, rubbing gently at the spot. "It's alright…"

But the child had stepped away, stricken, and another had taken her place. This one seemed older, perhaps in her mid-teens, and she brought a bar of hard, white soap with her. The girl didn't speak as she ran the bar down the part at the centre of Bella's head, and lathered her hair from roots to ends in minutes.

"Mila, go and see if you can find Bora," said Marta softly. "He sleeps next to the footmen, in a chamber at the end of the hall."

Mila, the smallest and youngest of the maids, bobbed a quick curtsey and bustled off, her skirts rustling all the way down the hall.

"Bora is a healer," said Marta gently. "He's neither as skilled nor as experienced as Lord Carlisle, but he is capable and trustworthy. I want him to see to that wound on your neck… it looks very raw."

Bella, brushing it gently with wet fingers, felt the wound flare when the soap touched it.

"Does it hurt badly?" Marta, taking up another cloth, began to dab at the bruises on her face. The girl at her head poured an ewer of water over her hair and Bella saw the bath run brown.

"Not so much," she lied. Her hair was lathered again. "It's been worse."

Marta tutted, reaching down to her feet.

By the time her whole body had been scrubbed and scoured, Bella's fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruny. The water, which held only some of its prior sweetness, was a dull, murky grey-brown, and though it had been deliciously hot at the start, it had grown tepid and cool. When Marta declared her clean Bella was shivering, and she rose from the tub with a self-conscious tremble, clutching the edge to keep from falling.

Before she could make so much as a peep Marta had her wrapped in a thick sheet that had been hanging before the fire. The warmth seeped in to her at once and she sighed, pulling it tightly around her.

"We've brought clothes and underthings," said Marta gently as she coaxed her onto a low stool. The girls began scooping water out of the tub, and Bella watched as they poured it carefully out the window, letting it splash to the empty, verdant grass below. They worked swiftly, untired and uncomplaining, and only when Mila returned with a stranger at her heels did Bella turn away, blinking.

"My Lady." The man bowed to her, his young, thin face alight with concern. "Marta."

"Bora," smiled Marta. "Come, come… sit here and have a look at our girl."

Bora kept his gaze politely from Bella's nakedness, which was still shielded beneath the sheet, and turned her towards the fire that glowed merrily in the grate. He surveyed her bruises with professional concern and pressed gently around her eye to test the bone beneath. Bella kept still while he did, flinching only when when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and he seemed satisfied that there would be no lasting wound.

"Mila tells me you've got a cut," said Bora softly, tapping her chin. Bella glanced up at the roof, raising her head enough for him to see, and he adjusted her head so that the firelight fell across her throat, tutting angrily.

"A fine mark," he said sharply. "A _deep_ mark… did you bleed?"

"Yes," she said, swallowing. The skin stretched tight.

"A lot?" His gaze and words were sharp. "Did you faint?"

"No," said Bella swiftly. "Not from that…"

He watched her, frowning.

"He… choked me," she said lamely, and when his fingers brushed over the cut again, she felt a thrill of recollected horror. "After he did it…"

"Indeed, I see." Bora brought his face close, his fingers brushing over the bruising there, too. "I see that he did just that."

His fingers matched up perfectly with the stubby, blackened marks and he pulled away at once, his lips drawn in a tight line.

"It'll need a salve and a bandage," he decreed. "It's not so dangerous as Mila feared, but it is, indeed, a concern."

Bella relaxed at once, letting her chin fall to her chest.

"Carlisle will want to see, no doubt," he said, rifling through the bag he'd carried in with him. "He'll want to check you over again for himself, but this will do for now."

He brought up a pot of yellow, pungent ointment. He opened the jar with care, making Bella grimace, and scooped a bit onto the end of his finger.

"Alcohol to cleanse, with calendula, arnica, lavender, honey, and beeswax," he explained, brushing it over her neck. It stung only a little and she made sure to hold still. "A simple salve, yet powerful to aid in healing. You'll have a scar, I think…"

Bella winced.

"Though, with any luck, not a great one," he finished. When Bella's neck had been thoroughly coated he wrapped a length of soft, thin cotton around it. He tied it at the side— to keep the knot out of her way while she slept, he said— and then began to tend the other wounds, which required far less attention.

Bruises were pressed and cuts were examined. The salve, which he seemed to have in ample supply, was quickly depleted as he dabbed this wound and that cut, making sure to massage it deeply into the torn flesh to stop any bleeding and dull some of the pain. The cut on her leg from the battle at Terosankta was cleaned and wrapped, as it had already begun to heal, and her feet were tied in tight, careful bandages to keep them out of the way of friction and further irritation. He splinted her wrist, which he was sure she'd rebroken, and ordered Marta to keep it above her heart to reduce swelling, and when he finally sat back, sighing with satisfaction, he gave her one last once-over.

"She's well, Marta," he soothed gently. The old woman had been hovering, the thumbnail on her right hand bitten down to a stub while the younger man worked. He looked exhausted now and Bella felt guilty when he yawned, but he smiled brightly at her when he caught her gaze, shaking his head.

"It is my job to come at all hours, and I'm happy to help," he soothed. "Do not worry after me. I'll sleep well in the morning."

"Thank you," said Bella at once, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. "Thank you for coming."

He rose, smiled at her, and bowed deeply, backing away without turning. Bella watched him go, fiddling with the splint on her wrist, stopping only when Marta took her hands and held them fast.

"You must eat," she said, "and then, to bed. The food is heating in the kitchens as we speak, and while we wait, I shall untangle your hair."

"Oh, you don't have to…" Bella spied a brush on the table by the door and was ready to rise, but Marta glared so sternly that her protest quailed and died before she could.

"You sit right there, little duck, and don't you move an inch." She snapped her fingers and Mila, rushing forward, snatched the brush and handed it to her. As Marta picked up the ends of her long, tangled hair, the girls began the laborious task of wheeling the tub through the door. Bella watched them idly as they rolled it carefully over the smooth, cold stone.

Marta's hands were gentle and Bella, silent and meditative, said nothing at all while her hair was brushed and smoothed. It snagged in some spots, making Marta pause and apologize, but Bella never said a word, and focused on the great relief she felt when her hair, damp and soft, lay across her shoulder in a loose, long plait.

She fingered it idly, running her hands down the smooth, brown locks, and thanked Marta heartily.

"Oh hush," she said, waving Bella off with pink cheeks. "Hush now, little duck, and get your night dress on."

She helped Bella with the ties, which were difficult with her hand wrapped and splinted, and by the time her food arrived, steaming and hot, Bella was thoroughly and completely relaxed.

A plate of eggs had been brought to her with a seedy bread on the side and three pieces of thick, glistening meat that Bella could not identify. Two oranges in a bowl, peeled and sectioned, were brought in too, and before she could stop herself, she scarfed one down in a rush.

"Easy, child," warned Marta, twitching the bowl away. "Go slowly or else you'll be sick…"

But Bella's stomach had erupted with ravenous hunger and she slowed only slightly, stopping to at least chew the food before she swallowed. Everything was exquisite— the eggs perfectly seasoned and the bread loaded with thick, creamy butter. The oranges broke like starbursts on her tongue and even the cup of hot, spiced wine did not burn as it might have, filling her from the inside out with a bright, generous warmth.

She finished the meal with satisfaction, the edge and substance of her hunger sated, and fell back against the chair, her eyes closed.

One of the maids took the dishes, whisking them away at once, and Marta snapped her fingers, making Bella's eyes creak open.

"Come, duck," she said softly. She pulled Bella up by her good arm. "Imi's changed the sheets while you were in the bath, and the bed is fresh and warm."

Bella rose, her wrapped feet unsteady beneath her, and followed Marta to the rear portion of the chamber. A dark, wooden door that matched the floors was slightly ajar and Marta took the silver handle and pushed, guiding Bella into the spacious chamber beyond.

Another hearth glowed, a little lower than the first. A trunk lay open at the window, a myriad of clothing spilled idly over its sides, and a tottering pile of unreadable books rested on a chair by the bed. Marta shook her head, glancing nervously at Bella when she did, and guided her quickly to the large four-poster bed at the centre of the room. The stone walls were draped with tapestries— delicately stitched sceneries from tales she did not know— and she had only a moment to admire the fine handiwork before she was lowered onto the bed, which had already been turned down, and installed carefully on a large, plush pillow.

It was like sinking into a cloud, and at once, Bella felt very sleepy.

"I _am_ sorry for the mess," said Marta regretfully, and Bella cracked an eye open again. "His Grace is very particular about when this room is cleaned, and by whom, and so if often goes untouched when he's out of house…"

Bella shook her head, sighing.

"No mess," she said drowsily. "It's wonderful, Marta. Thank you…"

The woman tutted again, but happily, and brought the thick, heavy covers up over Bella's body.

"You sleep now, child," she said gently. The candle burning by the bedside, which cast a light, airy glow, was snuffed. "Sleep now, and take your rest."

Bella's eyes closed.

"Sleep," said Marta again. "Your family will be here when you wake…"

 _Her family,_ Bella mused. _What a strange and comforting thought._

 **A/N: More coming soon!**

 **PRONUNCIATIONS:**

 **Imi — EE-mee  
** **Joro — YO-ro  
** **Bora — BO-ra  
** **Mila — MEE-lah**

 **Also, for those of you who haven't seen my Tweet, there is a new document on my Weebly site pertaining to this story. As a bit of a world building exercise, I created a list/chart to help explain the hierarchy and titles of different groups of people in the story. It might be of interest to you, if you're really following closely, and for those of you who are confused about who is a Lord, a Lady, or a Prince, or Princess, it might help clear things up.**

 **The only one who doesn't fit in that system yet is Bella, who is called "Lady" without any real royal or noble background. But she is a special circumstance. If you DO decide to check it out, please note that I forgot to mention that the Lord and Lady titles of royal in-laws do NOT carry down to their children (Esme and Carlisle's kids, if they'd had any, would not have titles, even though both parents do through Esme's relationship to Elizabeth).**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

The night was dark and the camp was still and though he rested atop his thick, warm pallet of furs and rugs, sleep did not come easily to Edward. He could hear the sounds of crickets and frogs from the jungle, croaking and cheeping beneath the calm, cool stars, but as he stared at the rough upper canopy of his tent with eyes wide and troubled, he felt no hint of telltale tiredness to overtake the worry. His blade rested in its scabbard by his side. His injured arm throbbed and itched, smarting when the fresh dressing rubbed the stitches. Carlisle had changed it before bed— had _insisted_ on it for fear of infection— and Edward had granted his uncle this small grace and had not complained. The wound had flared when he'd dragged a cloth of boiled water over it, washing away days worth of scabs, and it had felt newly wounded when he'd wrapped it again, tying the cloth a little tighter than before.

He'd been dispatched to bed like an errant child the very instant he'd shown any signs of tiredness. He had not had time to explain that he was not _sleepy_ and his uncle had not listened to well-reasoned protests when Edward had tried to speak. He'd been met with obstinate, stubborn worry that Edward knew was as immovable as stone, and to appease the healer, he'd sequestered himself away in his tent.

He'd listened to the chatter long after he was supposed to be asleep, eavesdropping on Jasper's retelling of their discovery of the mysterious corpse in the jungle.

They'd found it at noontime, he'd said. They were looking for place to break for their midday meal. They were intending to search the treeline next, looking for any signs of disturbance or movement, and when one of the scouts went to check for aggressors, he'd sounded the alarm.

The body had been pulled free of the brambles and leaves where it had fallen and had been dragged out into the light. They had not needed to check if he was truly dead, for his face was blue and mottled and they'd stripped him of his tunic to inspect his wounds, which were grievous and raw.

No one knew him. No one could place his face, which was thin and pale, with a long, crooked nose and a smattering of greasy, light hair. His clothing was rough, patched together from bits of other ruined garments, and had been worn so long that its former colours had faded to a monochrome brown. The cloak that had fallen near him was finer, made of a thick, black wool, and there was a curious metal clasp at the neck that bore no mark of any blacksmith in Edward's bustling capital.

He was not a farmer, for there were no farms near enough to be his. He was not a herder, for he had no stick, dog, or sheep trailing after him. He was not a vagrant, for his sword was finely made, and he was no goldsman, for his clothes were far too shabby.

And the hair… Jasper had hidden the lock of hair from his men, who were already rife with rumours and speculations. He'd found it in the man's fist— his _dead_ fist which had clenched so tightly around it that Jasper had been forced to pry it free. He worried about that hair, worried where it might have come from, and he'd saved it especially for Edward, letting him take it to inspect.

In the dark of his tent, which was no longer lit by the glow of a campfire, Edward wrapped that hair around his fingers. It was tangled worse than ever after his compulsive handling of it, but it was still soft beneath the pad his thumb, which he dragged down the curl until it made his thumb feel tingly.

The longer he waited, staring at the darkness above him, the more convinced he grew. This was _Bella's_ hair, though he did not like to think it, and the violence by which it had been taken made his stomach clench with fear.

He'd promised her safety. He'd promised her comfort. He'd promised her happiness, and friendship, and family, and every single one of those promises had been broken, shattered like glass at their feet.

Where on earth could she be?

* * *

When dawn rose, pale and clear in the east, Edward woke with a start, ill-rested and stiff. He sat up with a grimace and winced when his arm pulled in protest, remaining still for only a moment to let it settle before he threw open the flap of his tent and stretched.

The camp was utterly silent. The fire that had burned out in the night was a pile of blackened ashes and coals, beside which rested a pile of roasting sticks and bones from the evening's last meal. Grey-green tents of strong, serviceable fabric had popped up hodge-podge in the field, in which rested two men apiece. Jasper and Carlisle were still ensconced in the Prince's tent, which was big enough for two, and when he turned to face the jungle Edward saw the fluttering white sheet that covered the dead man.

Beyond him, walking idly near the trees, were the nighttime guards, who spoke with bent heads and whispered words that went unheard by their King.

Edward rummaged for a moment in his pocket, bringing the lock of hair up to the light. It caught the first rays of sun in a glint of reddish brown and he sighed, hiding it in his fist before anyone else could see.

"It it's hers, it's a good sign."

Edward nearly leapt out of his skin. Wheeling around with his hand on the scabbard of his sword he faced his uncle with pale surprise, his heart hammering in his throat.

"Gods, you do know how to _sneak,"_ he said waspishly. "You walk like a cat."

Carlisle grinned unapologetically.

"I'd apologize for it, but it's a very useful skill," he replied. "A _critical_ skill in a sickroom, I'd say. But I _am_ sorry if I scared you."

Edward said nothing. Carlisle glanced down at the hair in his hand and sighed, his mirth dying like a fly in a fire.

"May I see it?" he asked gently. He held out his hand in askance. "I promise, I won't keep it."

Reluctant and pensive, Edward dropped the curl into his uncle's hand. Carlisle brought it to his face and turned it towards the light to get a good look, his eyes narrowing in on the bloody clump at the very end.

"It was pulled," he said lowly. "Quite hard…"

Edward glanced back at the dead man again. Carlisle did too, speculative and suspicious.

"I wonder if _he_ did it," he said. "Where did Jasper find it again?"

"His hand," Edward replied. "In his fist."

"And he told no others?"

"No."

"Good man." Carlisle ran a finger down the curl. "It would only incite more gossip."

"Indeed…"

"It _is_ the right colour," said Carlisle slowly, ignoring Edward's wince. "And the right length."

"I fear we're not wrong, Carlisle," said Edward tiredly. "I fear that Jasper was right…"

"But as I said…" He handed the hair back and Edward stuffed it into his pocket. "If it _is_ hers, it is a good sign."

"It is a sign of injury," retorted Edward at once. "A sign of wrongdoing…"

"Aye, and a sign of _life."_ Carlisle glanced back at the jungle. "If he _did_ pull her hair out by the roots in some kind of struggle, it proves that she was _alive,_ not long ago, and that she was strong enough to _fight."_

"But…"

"And we found _him_ dead, not _her."_ Carlisle grinned, uncharacteristically pleased by this thought. "And if it _is_ hers, she's armed."

"We can't be sure…"

"I inspected the corpse thoroughly, Edward," said Carlisle. "He was felled by a knife, that much is certain. The cut on his ribs punctured a lung and tore the diaphragm. The one in his belly tore his bowels wide open. He died slowly, I'm sure, but from the blood at his lips, he must have choked on it."

"We don't know who he is…"

"He is none of ours," said Carlisle quickly. "No one we know, and no one with any business this side of the mountains."

Edward, frowning, glanced up at the tall, towering peaks. The summits were invisible here, close as they were to their roots, and disappeared into clouds of early morning mist about two thousand feet up the mountainside.

"But _how_ was he felled?" Edward asked. "How could she have _killed_ a man, Carlisle, and what does that mean for her?"

He stomach twisted again in nervous fear, and he looked away from the body with disgust.

"I have no idea," said Carlisle wonderingly. "None whatsoever. But it means _nothing_ , if she was pursued."

His voice had gone sharp.

"You are the _King,"_ he continued. "Murder is a crime, and we know it well, but you are the _King,_ and if you say it means nothing, then it means _nothing."_

Edward froze, frowning.

"This Island is under your control, and your control alone. You can forgive her this crime, if you think it right."

"She had no knife," said Edward uncertainly. "She had no weapons, and I doubt she'd know how to use one if she did… and that sword the man carried is no mean blade."

"No, it's not," said Carlisle. "It's _not_ mean, especially not when…"

He trailed off, his lips pursed. He looked ashamed of himself, as if he'd said too much, and at once, Edward felt that telltale prickle of falsehood at the back of his neck.

"Tell it true, Carlisle," he said quietly. "Do not try and keep things from me."

His Uncle sighed.

"There is blood on his blade, too," he said finally. "Not much, it's true, but enough to leave a mark."

Edward's nerves flared again, and he heard his throbbing heart in his own ears. Carlisle saw his fear and sighed, shaking his head quickly.

"We _will_ find her," he promised solemnly. "I, for one, will not stop scouring this island until I find some trace of her, even if it takes me ten years."

"She doesn't have ten years," said Edward. "Not if she's injured. Not if she's _alone…"_

A flapping tent at their backs silenced their chatter at once, and Edward turned to direct his men.

* * *

Scouring and searching, hunting and calling, Edward and his men had thrown themselves body and soul into the search for the missing Lady. They had broken their fast in silent contemplation, Edward, Carlisle, and Jasper formulating plans for a search.

Soldiers, in groups of two, completed a meticulous and thorough sweep of the treeline and fields. The day was hot and was made even more intolerable by the blazing sun overhead, which beat down on them like the core of a great, rippling oven. Edward's arm did not like the work— it throbbed with each step of his horse and made Carlisle grimace in displeasure, which slowed down their work indefinitely when he was forced to pause and have it examined, looking for any signs of infection or sickness. Jasper travelled with them, impatient with his brother's constant stops, but he said nothing as they moved, frisking through the trees and directing the returning men, who had no news to report and no evidence to submit.

They searched the jungle, as far and deep as they dared go in the twisting, winding darkness beyond. They searched the fields, rifling through long grass and weeds and dragging long sticks and branches through puddles and creeks. Three men abreast walked the length of a stream, pushing through thickets of tall and spindly reeds, ducking their heads beneath the water in murky spots to look for any signs of struggle or movement. They looked for footprints, though this hope was made small by the constant rains over the last week, and for objects, which might tell of her journey from the trees.

They looked for laces or shoes, as the suede ties on her wooden soles would not have lasted long in the wild. They looked for a hair tie— that long, black ribbon which had bound her plait— or the thin wire pins that had held her hair in place. They looked for scraps of fabric, black bits of mourning dress or white bits of slip, and even for remnants of fire or food, which she may have managed to catch, had she been lucky and quick.

"This is how it's been for a week," said Jasper glumly, pulling up behind Carlisle who was scanning the field to their left. "No signs of anything except that body and its prize."

"We are growing closer by the minute," said Carlisle gently. "We've not found much, but what you _did_ find is a great clue."

Jasper shifted a bit, uncertain.

"It won't _help_ though," he mumbled. Edward considered him sympathetically. "It won't get us any _nearer."_

"Perhaps not," agreed their Uncle, "but it _has_ put us on the right trail."

"Leah's found nothing," said Jasper at once. "If we were on any trail at all, she'd let us know. She just sniffs and sniffs and stops for food. She's found _nothing."_

"A dog's nose is only good so long as the scent remains," said Carlisle sagely. "She cannot help us if the scent was washed away in the rain."

"She hunts after rainfall all the time," said Jasper crossly. "What's different now?"

"A lady's scent is not so pungent as a boar's, I should think." Carlisle stifled a grin. "Boars are notorious animals. They leave traces everywhere."

"But…"

"The Lady," continued Carlisle, "is perhaps more subtle. And if we are right in thinking she's been pursued…"

Jasper hung his head and Edward spoke up.

"You've done very well to find what you have," he said honestly. "Very well, Jasper…"

"But what if she's not found?" he asked. "I thought…"

"I know what you thought," said Edward gently. "You believed what we've all hoped is true. And I hope that you believe it _still_ , for we must have at least _one_ leader who truly believes that our quest will end in joy instead of tragedy."

Jasper's head snapped up at once.

"You believe it will end that way?" he asked, his eyes suddenly soft and damp. "You think she's…"

Edward grimaced.

"I do not _think_ it," he spoke delicately, "but I do _fear_ it."

"She's stronger than you think," said Jasper at once. "She survived on the beach, and she was grievously injured then."

Edward simply nodded.

"She's not one to be trifled with," he said. "She's _smart,_ Ed. She _has_ to be."

"I know…"

"She _won't_ be dead," he snapped, and Edward sensed a hint of the old anger rising in him again. Defusing it at once Edward held up his hand for peace, and Jasper fell suspiciously silent, eying him with annoyance.

"I do not wish to quarrel," said Edward. "I don't want to fight with you… not when you've been doing so well."

"It's not all for _nothing,"_ he said hotly, the anger not quite depleted. "You speak as if it's futile."

"Not at all." Carlisle wheeled his horse around, looking soberly at the Prince. "Not at all, Jasper. Your brother is the King…"

"I _know_ that…"

"...and as King," Carlisle cut in with infinite patience, "it is his duty to try and see all ends."

Jasper grimaced, but said nothing.

"We must prepare ourselves for any outcome," continued Carlisle, soft and gentle. "Even if we do not like it. The Lady might be found, untouched and unharmed, somewhere in the fields. She may be found up a tree communing with monkeys. She may walk right into our camp while we're all asleep and we'll find her there in the morning, with smiles and stories to shock us all."

Jasper grinned at this, as if the fantasy amused him.

"But we may also find injury," said Carlisle. "We may find _death_ , even. Bella is a gentle woman who has been very gently raised. She is not a woodsman or a hunter. She does not know the jungles like we do."

"She's _smart,_ " said Jasper again. "She's _capable,_ Uncle…"

"Aye, I think you're right," said Carlisle quickly. "Nevertheless, even the best of us…"

"She is _not_ dead!" he snapped hotly. He wheeled his horse around and stiffened, sitting still in his saddle. "She is _not_ dead. That hair is hers, I'm sure of it. And if she had the hair torn right off of her head, not even two days ago, then…"

Carlisle and Edward said nothing.

"Then…" He struggled for words. "Then she is _alive!_ She _fought_ him! She probably _killed_ him!"

"Jasper…"

The boy wheeled around with eyes full of fire and glared hotly at his brother, though Edward did not quail.

"You are _wrong."_ He spat the words with venom. "You're _wrong_ , Edward, and before this search is done, I will prove it to you."

"Your hope is as great as my own." Edward spoke lowly and it made Jasper scowl. "Your hope is as _true_ as mine, though you may not see it."

" _You_ think she's…!"

"Aye, I think she's hurt!" Edward shouted and Jasper started, surprised. "I think she's injured, and frightened, and hungry, and sore…"

The boy flinched.

"And I _hope_ we find her well." His throat was tight and the space between his eyes began to smart. "I want nothing more than to find her and bring her home…"

The child alighted with a mad, mercurial delight.

"Home," he agreed, nodding solemnly in agreement. "We'll bring her _home_ , Ed, and then you can make her all the promises in the world."

Edward bit his tongue and turned away.

"Just remember, Jasper…" Carlisle rode up next to him, patting him roughly on the shoulder. "Just remember that you're not the only one who loves her. We all care for her and we all want her safe, and we're all working towards the same goal. Your brother included."

Edward, flushed red with sudden embarrassment, said nothing at all when Jasper turned his speculative, deciphering gaze on him.

* * *

Their break came in the dead of night, well after the last of the evening's sunlight disappeared beyond the mountain peaks, turning the inky blue sky to a murky cloud of indigo. The night was black, with only a hint of speckled stars, and the moon was invisible, having dipped beyond some distant horizon. They had eaten a meagre meal of roasted rabbit and hard biscuits, washing it all down with water from a nearby stream, and the fire had reduced to embers, the soldiers asleep in their tents, when the commotion broke out.

"Leah, no!"

Jasper stood at the edge of the camp, where he was coaxing Leah to take some leftover meat from his dinner, before she'd stood with perked ears and bolted, barking madly, into the great, dark jungle. Edward watched with concern, his eyes trained on the white, streaking bolt, and he moved towards the trees when the dog disappeared, barking madly.

"Leah!" Jasper ran to the treeline, stopping short when he hit the great, looming shadow. "Leah, _come!"_

"She's half wild, that creature," said a soldier, glancing concernedly into the trees beside his King and his Prince. "She's been on edge all day."

"She's trained not to run," said Edward crossly. "She's trained to sit, and wait for commands…"

A howl, low and strident, tore through the trees. The sound made Edward shiver— it sounded as harsh and menacing as a wild, wanton wolf— and he half-wondered if he ought to go in after her and bring her safely back to camp.

"Shall I…" The soldier eyed the trees warily, as if he hesitated to move, and waited for command. "I could…"

"It's dark," said Edward at once, though Jasper watched him with astonished concern. "There's no sense losing a man, too. Leah is strong. She'll be alright…"

A volley of barks, sharp and angry, made Edward bristle.

"She'll get hurt, Ed," whispered Jasper urgently. "She's not trained for the wild…"

"She's fierce, and a hunter," said Edward reasonably. "Perhaps our rabbit did not suit her…"

The pile of small, clean bones next to the dog's nest of grass and leaves told plainly that the rabbit _had_ suited, and Jasper said as much to Edward, who sighed, tired.

"She'll come back," said Edward again. "She's run off before…"

"In the _grounds!"_ hissed Jasper anxiously. "Not in the jungle!"

"You run in the jungle all the time," said Edward dryly, "and you've never been eaten by beasts." Jasper scowled at him, his face mottled and red.

"We could get a torch…"

"No." Edward shook his head at the soldier. "If she hasn't returned by tomorrow we'll look for her. Chances are she'll return in the night with her hunting prize and we'll all be jealous of her feast come morning.

Jasper stared disconsolately into the trees, whistling softly when the howls went quiet, and heard nothing at all from the echoing trees.

"We'll go in the morning," soothed Edward softly. "It'll do us no good to chase her now. We can't afford to lose our men, as we'll be on the hunt again tomorrow…"

This seemed to snap the boy back to sense. He shook his head as if to clear it and ran his hands heavily over his eyes, swallowing back the yawn that bubbled up in his throat.

"You should get to sleep," said Edward softly. "Try to get some rest before morning."

Jasper rose without a word.

"I'll wake you at once if we have any news," said Edward to his retreating back. "I'm sure she'll return by sunrise."

Jasper was just reaching to grab the flap of his tent, which had been hastily tied, when they heard the barks.

Three sharp sounds, each bouncing harshly off of the trees and leaves.

 _Three barks…_ from any other animal this might have been inconsequential. From any other beast but _Leah_ , who had been trained to respond thusly when she reached the end of her hunting trail, when her prize was in hand, waiting for the kill…

"Leah!" Edward rose with a sudden furor, rushing forwards towards the trees. "Leah, come!"

 _Three barks._

The soldiers rose in a flurry. Shouts of "Leah!" and "Come!" rang through the clearing like a tinkling fairy echo, making birds flutter into the sky. Armour clanged, swords shifted, and Edward, giddy with sudden terror, leapt forward.

"Torch!" he bellowed, and the men scrambled to obey. "Bring me a torch at once!"

 _Three barks._

A torch was lit from the embers of the cookfire. It flared brilliantly, sending jetties of orange light into the blackness between the trees, and Edward peered through anxiously, his heart in his throat. The noise was clamorous now and Edward held up an impatient hand for silence, which came with great difficulty as the men fought down excited exclamations and concerned whispers. When there was nothing but the noise of crickets and frogs, Edward drew in a breath, shouting the command as deeply and loudly as he could

"Leah, _seek!"_

An echoing howl, strident and long, answered from the jungle and Edward grinned, thrusting the torch into the blackness.

"What did she find?" Jasper was at his elbow, his face aglow with light. He wore a peculiar expression somewhere between terror and glee, and Edward suspected that for the first time in a long while, their feelings were one and the same.

Carlisle stood behind him like a ghost, his face unreadable.

"I don't know." They heard another howl, closer this time. "But whatever it is, she's bringing it back."

They heard the gentle rustling of sprinting paws as they listened to the night. Edward waved the torch, whistling gently to guide the dog back to camp, and when she tumbled free of the weeds and bracken some five minutes later, Edward snatched the scrap of fabric in her mouth with trembling, shaken fingers.

Black, thick, and woolen… as familiar to him as the shirt on his back.

His breath left him in an instant and he fell still, his face as pale as milk. Jasper, beyond patience, snatched it from him angrily, peering down at it with curious, confused eyes.

He took the torch, too, and brought the strip close.

It was a piece of the skirt, of that long, black, heavy dress that he'd ordered from his mother's stores to clothe Bella on the day of the ceremony at Terosankta.

"What does it mean?" demanded Jasper at once. He rounded on his brother, who said nothing, and then Carlisle, who blew out a sigh. "What does it _mean,_ Edward?"

Edward took it back, stuffing it into his pocket.

"It means she was there," he said gruffly. "It means we're not wrong."

The boy froze, blinking.

"It means that she was _here."_

The men began to murmur, excitement bubbling like wine in their bellies. The chatter rose among them, growing noisy and loud, but before Edward could turn to silence them, the chatter turned to fear. Men shouted, confused and wary, and as if they were attached to strings like marionettes, their heads rose in one, swift movement. A shout rang out again and an arrow was nocked, pointing inexplicably at the sky, where Edward squinted into the dark.

"What is it?" he demanded at once. The archer's keen eyes followed something he could not see. "What is it?"

His question was answered when a great, emerald bird, with a beak as orange as the torch, came tumbling from the sky, landing with a squawk and a shiver at his feet.

* * *

Edward rode like the wind.

Dust flying beneath Magnus' hooves and sweat sliding down his flanks, Edward pushed his horse ever on, feeling the wind sharp and damp on his face and neck. The night sprawled out before him like an endless brocade peppered with stars and clouds, winking from the veil of the sky. The city was dark. High in the valley Edward could see over the walls and he stared down at it eagerly, where the glows of hearthfires and cooking stoves had been extinguished, their owners asleep in the quiet of early morning. The sun was far off— it would be an hour before it rose, and another hour after until the world was bright— but Edward's tiredness did not faze him.

Emmett's letter ran a loop in his brain.

 _My King,_

His horse leapt over a farmer's fence.

 _The Lady has returned._

He swerved to avoid a field of wheat, which rose before him like a golden sea.

 _She is safe, and is tended by Marta._

Magnus whinnied— a savage, joyous sound.

 _Your aunt has left to find you but she does not know this news, as she woke from her slumber and was distressed to find her husband and King gone._

He'd ridden right by her, bewildered and shocked though she'd been, without stopping for so much as a how do you do. He'd seen Carlisle stop for her, back when he'd been able to keep up, but Jasper had not been so courteous, and so had remained hot on Edward's tail until his horse had faltered, and he'd been forced to stop.

Magnus showed no such weakness and sprinted on.

 _The Lady arrived at the Western Gates at midnight, with a woman and child in tow._

Leah, swift and eager, outstripped Magnus by a hair.

 _She is being cared for and put to bed, well-fed and clean._

He ran.

 _There are two men on guard at the door._

He laughed.

 _She has been put in your bed._

He flew down the last hill to the city gates, where two large torches lit the night. Those who had not made it to the gates before sunset were camped comfortably beside the fires and food Edward had commissioned for them, and they woke with a start when their King began to shout.

"Open the gates!" Magnus reared. "Open the gates at once!"

Two heads peered through the window of the watchtower and Edward flung back his helmet, revealing his face. The younger man began to scramble before he disappeared down the stairs.

"Open the gates!"

The portcullis began to rise.

"My King!" The soldier, a young boy called Ruben, bowed at once. "My King, your Lady…"

Edward paused very briefly and eyed the boy with interest

"She is found," said Edward at once, unable to help his grin. "She is found, and is at the castle…"

"Yes, sir! Yes! We let her through…"

"Good man, Ruben!" Edward spurred his horse on again. "Very good man!"

The boy beamed as Edward rode off, clattering through the cobbled city streets with haste.

He bolted into the grounds. He ran like a shot through the castle doors. His feet banged noisily on the stone, echoing high in the rafters above him, but he did not care, pausing only once he reached the Western wing, where two guards stood sentry. One, startled, bowed at once when he saw him and the other, more recognizable to Edward than his own face, stepped forward with surprise.

"Edward," said Emmett. "You're here…"

"Is she…"

"She is well," said Emmett at once, amused and concerned all at once. "She sleeps restfully. There is a maid in your receiving room, listening for any signs of distress…"

Edward made to move forward, but Emmett blocked his way.

"You're waxen," he said at once, concern rising like a bolt. "You're white as a sheet…"

"Let me through," said Edward sharply. "I will see her for myself."

"Don't wake her, brother." Emmett spoke with careful warning. "She is in no shape to be disturbed."

Edward paused, his hand on the latch.

"What do you mean?"

Emmett sighed.

"She is not… _entirely_ well," he hedged gently. "And there is a story to tell…"

"Stories can wait," said Edward shortly. "Tell me what's befallen her."

"She is wounded," said Emmett seriously. "Not gravely, but wounded nonetheless. She arrived at the gates without a warning. Carlisle will want to look at her, though Marta had Boro tend her in the interim."

"Who found her?"

"The guards at the gate," said Emmett. "She knew nothing of the curfew and wanted into the city. The young lad, Ruben, was the one who recognized her."

Edward nodded, filing this away for later.

"I was called and came at once. I brought her inside— and her companions— and we set her up here. Your room was aired and ready for occupants, unlike the blue rooms, and we figured you'd want her near."

"I would… I _do,"_ he amended quickly. "But you said _'companions'..."_

"The woman and child," said Emmett. "There is a story there, sure enough, but all is well…"

Edward, wanting dearly to ask more, refrained, pushing the door to his chamber open with care. The room was awash with gentle light from the hearth, before which sat a very young maid, her eyes fixed on some distant part of the rug that Edward could not see. She scrambled up when she saw him, stumbling over herself to curtsey and Edward released her at once, gesturing for her to sit

She said nothing and did not rest, shuffling her slippered feet on the carpet.

"How fares my Lady?" he queried softly. "Is she well?"

"She sleeps," chirped the girl. "She's not been disturbed."

"Has she woken?"

"No."

"Has she cried out?"

The child shook her head. "I check on her every hour or so, and she sleeps quite soundly."

"What time did she arrive?"

"Just about an hour after midnight?" The child's nose wrinkled as she thought. "I'm not sure, Your Grace. It could have been later…"

"No matter." Edward glanced eagerly towards the bedroom door, which was closed and silent. "Are you…"

"Here until daylight," said the girl at once. "Another will replace me then. Marta has ordered us here until the Lady Esme returns, and even then perhaps we will be called."

"You may go _now_ , child," said Edward gently. "Get some sleep before daybreak is upon you. I will look after the Lady until my Aunt arrives."

The child blinked at him, surprised.

"I…"

"Yes?"

The girl faltered.

"Marta…"

"Marta will not be cross, I promise you that," he said kindly. "If you're questioned, you tell her that the King himself dismissed you from your post."

She bobbed a short curtsey.

"Off with you, now…" He trailed off, unsure what to call her.

"Imi, sir." The girl perked up at once. "Imi. I tend the fires in the morning, and change the sheets."

"Imi." Edward nodded graciously to her, embarrassed that he did not know her name. The hiring of maids was the Queen's responsibility, and he'd been so bogged down by his own Kingly duties that his household had been left entirely to Marta, who had been his mother's own choice servant.

"Thank you, Your Grace." She bobbed another curtsey. "And goodnight."

"Goodnight, child." The girl backed away. "Sleep well."

She closed the door behind her and Edward, bristling with anticipation, pulled the latch of his own bedroom door and swung it in, stepping into the darkness with quiet, gentle feet.

The room was dark. The shades on his windows, left open by his own preference, had been drawn, casting out the moon and stars. The lamp on his bedside was dark, snuffed by Marta's kindly hands some hours prior, and the candles in the sconces were hard and waxen. The fire that burned behind the grate was low and simmering, sending only a slight flickering glow in the space just beside it, and none of that light reached the bed where he stared, fixated, on the small, still disturbance beneath the blankets and the sheets.

Her face was to him, white and still with sleep. Her long plait of hair that tumbled over her shoulder was smooth and neat, falling to her chest which rose and fell with gentle, soft breaths. Her arms were bare beneath the white nightdress, standing out in stark relief against his dark bedding and when he drew nearer he saw bruises there— dark, handprints stamped in ink, marring the pale smoothness of her skin. Her lips were parted and he saw them cracked and dry, and the side of her face that rested on the pillow was swollen with bruises, the worst of which ran up towards her eye.

Hot and terrible fury rose in his chest at once. He felt his teeth set, crushing and strong, before he forced himself to relax, breathing in deep to dispel the rage. It would do her no good… the damage was done and the injuries made, and no amount of anger or rage on his part would change that now.

His fingers, roaming and curious, took the edge of the blanket and tugged it down. Her fingernails were ragged, torn and bloodied by her journeys, and her hands had gone rough, calloused and bruised. He did not linger at her waist or her legs— it was not seemly for him look so intimately on her when she was not able to protest— but he could not help but take her foot in his hand, which was bandaged thickly from ankle to toe. He could see the edges of her toes, where raw, seeping blisters lay, and he felt a pang of pity that struck him hard, morphing into guilt when he slipped it back beneath the covers and let her shimmy herself into a comfortable spot.

When she'd finished moving, he saw the bandage at her neck. Gauze, white and soft, was wound about her throat, through which had seeped a pinkish red ooze from the skin beneath. He paused at once, his heart hammering with fear, and before he could stop himself, he brought his fingers up to touch it.

It was warm, wet with blood, and he fumbled for the knot at once, carefully unravelling the thick, soft cotton. She stirred but little as he worked, mumbling incoherently under her breath when he peeled the last layer away, and he had to squint to see the wound, shadowed as it was by darkness and gloom.

He lit the lamp with a stick from the fire, letting it flare to life before he brought it to her face, which flickered oddly beneath the light.

The wound was raw, its edges rough and torn from a blade that had dug deeply into her soft, warm flesh. His fingers flinched away, afraid to do her some further injury, and he cursed that hurt, his mind flickering back to that bloody blade they'd found with the dead man. Had he done this to her— held that long knife to his Lady's throat, pressing the very life out of her with malice? Had he put these bruises on her— the handprints on her arms and the fingers about her neck? Had he been the one to chase her, frightened and unarmed, to the very gates of his own city, where she'd been found, at last, and brought to safety?

The basket by his bed— the one Carlisle had left for his own wound— was just an arm's length away. He glanced away from her for a moment, rifling through to find what he needed, and brought up a pot of yellow wound salve and a length of narrow cotton, thicker than the one Boro had used to bind her earlier in the night.

Bella did not shift as Edward worked. She must be exhausted, he thought, to lay so still, especially when her wounds were new and sharp. He'd never been cut on his throat, much to his own relief, and so could not know how much it really stung, but when his fingers tickled gently over the thin, torn skin, she only slept, her breath touching his hand with each slow exhale.

He bound it gently, with a knot like Boro's tied beneath her ear. The sullied bandage went to the fire and made the coals hiss and seethe in the grate as she settled back against his pillow, her face smooth of any grief or fear.

The first rays of daylight, peeking in through the southern window, touched them, and Edward snuffed the lamp at last. He leaned forward on his chair, his face grey with exhaustion, and watched her, his hand placed just so, so that he might feel the air as she breathed.

 _She was safe, at last,_ he thought. _Safe, and clean, and fed, and warm…_

As if she heard this thought out loud, Bella turned herself gently towards him. Edward kept still, his head rested on his hands, level with the pillow, and when she settled again, she was not two inches from his own face. He watched her, overwhelmed with relief and joy at her homecoming, and though he did not cry, he felt the prickle behind his eyes that warned him he might. He was tired— so deliciously, blessedly tired— and though he longed to close his eyes and sleep, there was nothing in the world that would take his hand from her breath, or his eyes from her face.

It had been too long since he'd seen it, and it gave him such a deep and resonant thrill that he could not look away.

 _She was home,_ he thought. His brother was right. The Lady was home, and safe, and warm…

 _In his bed, nonetheless. In the King's own bed, sleeping like a babe…_

The thought made him blush and he knew it was not entirely proper, but he could not help but think that she looked _right_ there, as if she belonged. He wondered suddenly, with mingled curiosity and reproval, what it would be like if he were in the bed with her, her warmth and her smell wrapped around him like a quilt…

He shook the thought away at once.

 _She was safe,_ his conscience reminded him, _and that was all that mattered._ No matter which bed she was in, she was _safe_ , and he could ask for nothing more than that when she was so utterly spent and exhausted from her rough and tiresome journey.

The story would come later. When she was well and ready to speak Edward would listen, and he would know all about her suffering and how she had come to be here, so unexpected and miraculous, over a week after she'd disappeared from the face of the Earth.

But until then, she was _safe._

His energy waned then, as if the very notion had flipped a switch somewhere deep inside. He felt weary to the very marrow of his bones and as he sat watching her in the rising light of day, his limbs began to tremble as if they might come apart at the slightest breeze. He felt fragile, as if he were made of thin, spun glass, and the strain of keeping himself upright felt as if he might crumble to dust right then and there, to blow on the wind beyond the walls to the wilds of the jungle from which Bella had escaped. He rested his head on the bed, his hair brushing her soft, supple arm, and tiredness rushed at him like a ram, hitting him full in the chest with the force of a hurricane.

Sleep came easily to him that morning and he drifted with a heart of molten gold, thinking just how very beautiful his Lady was, and how glad he felt to see her safe.

 **A/N: REUNION! (also, we broke 700 reviews last chapter! Thanks so much!)**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Possible tissue warning in effect. Please see my note at the end of the chapter.**

 **Chapter 30**

Edward dreamed of his mother.

 _He stood at the end of a long, narrow hallway lined with flaming torches in rough sconces along the walls. The floor was coated with dirt that had been left to linger in corners where no masters or servants walked, its fuzzy haze marred only by two sets of hasty footprints, shuffling into the great, deep darkness. He shivered, feeling a curious coldness settling in his bones, and when he took a step forward a plume of dust eddied in the stillness, catching the light and glittering like sand on a beach._

 _He knew this place as surely as he knew his own self. He remembered this hallway, just as it had been that night when the world had seemed so dark, and though he was older now, and wiser, being in the cold corridor made him feel like a boy again. His body trembled like a weed in the wind. As if in reflex he reached out for the sword at his waist but found nothing, his fingers gripping naught but the cool, dry air._

 _He closed his eyes and ran, just as he had that first time, his feet tripping over cracks in the stone._

 _The door at the end was ajar, its seized and rusted hinges forced by a strong, determined shoulder. A fiery glow spilled at his feet, painting the stone orange, and he walked on with care, as silent and wary as a cat._

 _His father's rooms were awash with light._

 _The passage opened onto the landing, where the maids bustled and tittered, blankets, towels, and ewers of water and wine all held in work-worn hands. They whispered to each other, words that Edward could not make out, and the whole room looked as if it rippled, like he was walking through a space submerged under water. It distorted as he moved and he felt a sudden apprehension, as if a wave of a wayward hand would send it spiralling back into the depths of dream, where so many of his most precious memories were stored._

 _The maids did not see him as he walked across the landing. They did not hear him when the door of his father's chambers— now_ his _chambers— creaked beneath his hands. The fire was a roaring glow and the room was laden with linens and quilts. Soldiers, stoic and stern, stood sentry at the doors and windows, and they, too, let Edward pass without a glance or comment. He saw Emmett's father, hulking and hunched upon an armchair near the fire, and the King as he stood before the blaze, his figure but a silhouette against the raging, fiery hearth. He did not turn when Edward entered, but raised his glass with joyful hands and drank deeply._

 _A pealing cry rang from the bedchamber and Edward peeked his head through the door, stopping short when he saw a boy— a young, frightened boy— with a mess of red hair and a face as pale as new parchment. It was strange to see himself so plainly, and stranger still to see himself young. He was only a boy, just growing out of his childhood roundness, and his legs were too long, his arms too scrawny. Those arms were laden with a mess of blankets and towels, bloody from his mother's struggle, but within them was held a tiny pink creature, squalling noisily in the room. Edward felt a jolt of recognition as he took in the scene, feeling at once both proud, as a new brother should, and terribly, painfully sad._

 _The woman in the bed held her eyes on this younger version of him, alight with the glow of renewed motherhood. Elizabeth had always been beautiful and she was now, too, her tired face bright with an overwhelming, untouchable love. Edward watched her now, as he never had then, and he saw the pride on her pretty face, the singular joy of a mother as she looked upon her sons._

" _Your brother…" His mother reached out, brushing her finger over the baby's pink foot. "You have a brand new brother, Edward…"_

 _Edward saw his own face morph into an expression of surprise before the room began to melt. His younger self smiled at their mother, grinning crookedly at her in absolute wonder, but as his present self moved to step forward, to see his mother more clearly, the room dissolved and he was thrown into darkness, transported in a wink._

" _Your brother…"_

 _The room reformed with a startling swiftness. He stood in the nursery, the room where he and Jasper had both spent their separate childhoods, and it was not closed up or unused as it was now, but bright and whole. His mother stood before him, her face beseeching and proud, but her lovely, vibrant gaze held a terrible agony, as if a knife had pierced her and her very life was flowing out from the wound. The fingers that clutched his wrists dug in like knives but he did not complain, relishing her strength, and her light..._

" _Your brother, Edward…"_

 _Jasper slept, his face smooth and calm beneath their father's touch. He shifted slightly, pressing deeper into his pillows, and Edward felt his mother's body slacken, her knees weakening beneath the weight of her unbearable choice. His father hugged her tight, his arms pressed to her with an urgency that Edward had never seen, and he felt his own stomach drop when he saw the fear etched on his father's face._

 _His father was the King, and Kings were not afraid. His father was strong— the strongest man he'd ever known— and it frightened Edward to his very core to see him so distressed, so absolutely and completely defeated. The circles beneath his eyes were dark and when he looked up at Edward, his eyes brimming with some unknown emotion, he looked every bit of his 44 years. The grey hair at his temples stood out in the low, flickering firelight and the lines on his face seemed deep and rough. Edward remembered this face as clearly as if he'd seen it yesterday. That look of terrible regret, of awful, tired fear, would be with him always, forever the lasting image of his wise and gentle father._

" _You don't have to join me, Elizabeth…" He kissed her fiercely, and even in his dream Edward looked away. "You don't have to come."_

" _Yes," His mother squeezed him tightly. "I must, Edward… I have no choice!"_

" _You do!" He glanced down at Jasper, who yet slept. "You will_ always _have a choice, Lizzie…"_

" _Where you go, so will I." Edward heard the heartbreak in her voice and it made him feel ill, his pulse hammering fiercely in his throat. He could feel the terror growing in his bones, as heavy as a boulder, but he remained still and silent, his lips pressed together in a tight, hard line._

 _His mother, releasing his father, saw her son's bright eyes and she broke, her face falling as tears welled up. She turned away from the three of them, biting down on the heel of her hand and Edward's body convulsed with tremors when her high, anguished cry rang out._

 _His father took Edward's face in his hands, then, forcing him to look away from her. He stared at his father— really_ looked _at him— and saw such a depth of unfathomable grief and overwhelming, palpable love._

" _You are my being and my light, Ed." Edward, in dreams and reality, felt the stirring of despair deep in the pit of his stomach. "You are my image, and my legacy."_

 _He brought their faces together, pressing his lips to his son's forehead._

" _You will do well. I know it." The son pulled his father close, the weight of their embrace crushing. He swallowed hard against his grief. "You will be a great King."_

" _Don't go." Edward whispered into the dark. "Don't go, Father…"_

" _I must." He glanced at his wife, who wept bitterly by the fireside. "I must go, and your mother will join me… I cannot convince her otherwise."_

" _It is folly!" Edward begged, breathless. "Absolute madness!"_

" _I must try." His father gripped him hard. "I must_ try _, Edward, for the sake of our people. This violence can_ not _go on."_

" _We are strong!" His mother knelt over Jasper, kissing him over and over with wet, trembling lips. "We are ready to fight!"_

" _We are broken." His father's sorrow, liquid and soft, betrayed him only briefly before he mastered it. "We are broken, Ed, and we must at least_ try. _If we cannot find peace, everything we've worked for will be lost. If my life must be forfeit— if_ that _is the price they demand— then so be it."_ His father swallowed hard, as if steeling himself. _"So be it."_

" _Send another!" The plea was wild and desperate. "Send someone else…"_

" _I'd not condemn another living soul to such a fate," said the King at once. "Not a soul, Edward. Do you understand that?"_

 _He shook his head, fierce and angry, because he_ didn't.

" _The people need their King…"_

" _And they will have him." The sword, which hung at his father's waist, was pulled from its scabbard. "They will have_ you _, Edward, second of your name..."_

 _The Prince's tears spilled over, then, as he shook his head, rejecting that title and rejecting his very_ purpose _, but it did not stop his father from pressing the blade on him, wrapping his fingers around the hilt."_

" _I leave my Kingdom to you." He bowed his head in silence. "I leave my life, my home, my_ heart _to you…"_

 _He glanced at his youngest, wrapped sleeping in his mother's arms. She whispered to him, her lips moving frantically at his ear but he did no more than shift, curling himself around her._

" _Take care of your brother," he said finally. His mother disentangled Jasper's sleeping fingers from hers, kissing them fiercely. "Take care of our island."_

" _Father…"_

" _I love you. I love you_ both. _Tell your brother that, in the morning, and tell him again every day of his life if we do not return."_

 _Edward, the King's son and heir and image, fell silent, his heart in his throat._

 _His mother kissed him. His father, wordless and determined, squeezed his shoulder one final time. His mother cried, running her hands over his face as if her touch could commit every inch of him to precious memory, sacred and unsullied, even as she mounted her horse in the yard, her knees shaking like leaves._

 _And Edward had watched them, that heavy sword at his waist, through the window of the throne room. He'd watched them descend from the castle, watched two pinprick figures slip through the gate at the distant, silent walls, and had seen them disappear, a King and his Queen, into the great and wild unknown. He had waited until dawn had risen in the East, creeping ever closer to that dull, grey mountain range, and when sun and stone met in the early morning hush he knew, without being told, that their souls were one with the Gods._

Edward woke with a start.

The room was silent, as dark as night and as still as a tomb. He did not immediately realize where he was or how he had come to be there, and in a short, sharp moment of confusion, he felt the tickle of a sheet against his cheek. His neck cracked uncomfortably when he rose up like a shot, his back hitting the rear of the chair with an audible thump. He rubbed his eyes, blinking through the gloom, and felt an inexplicable, aching grief in his heart, though he could not remember why. The tail of his dream, waving gently in the recesses of his mind, scurried away like a lizard beneath a rock where it hid, out of sight and out of mind until the ache dulled to a gentle throb and he sighed, glancing tiredly at the bed.

Bella was still, her body turned to him in sleep, and he reached out his fingers to brush a curl from her cheek. She was warm and soft to the touch and he lingered for only a moment, his face softening when her lips parted in garbled speech.

"Shhh…" He patted her hair, which was as warm as her face, when her unintelligible babble became heavy and sharp. "You're alright…"

She pressed her face to his hand, a deep furrow between her brows and settled down restlessly, her fingers clutching the fabric of the sheets.

"All is well." He lowered his face to her ear. "You are safe, and all is well…"

Slowly, as if she didn't quite believe him even in sleep, she began to relax, and when the gentle knock sounded on the door she was as still as she'd been before, without a hint of tension in any line of her face. Edward was loathe to take his hand away but he did before he answered, letting her shift softly on her pillow in search of his warmth, which seemed to calm her.

"Come in." He spoke gently in the gloom. "But be quiet…"

The door creaked open, the hinges protesting their movement, and Edward turned slowly around, glancing with mild surprise at Emmett, whose face peered in nervously through the crack.

"My King."

Edward turned back around.

"Come in, Emmett." His friend stepped closer. "Come in."

"How does she fare?" he asked softly, taking a few steps into the room. The open door, now closed, had cast a bright and brilliant light on Bella's face, making her bruises and marks stand out in sharp relief against her pale flesh. The gauze at her neck was pink again, though Edward didn't dare touch it this time for fear that she would wake. He was very much loathe to wake her, exhausted as she was, and he feared that he would not do so good a job of it the second time around. Emmett had seen the marks as clearly as Edward had and his dark focus was fixed on her face, full of pity and compassion.

"She sleeps," he said softly. "As she should, and well enough, I think. What time is it?"

"An hour past dawn," grimaced Emmett apologetically. "I know it's early. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't." Edward bowed his head in tired reflection "But I'm glad you've come. Have I thanked you, yet, for bringing her back safe?"

"I did nothing of the sort." Emmett crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "She brought _herself_ home safe. Not me."

"You brought her in," reasoned Edward softly. "You brought here _here."_

"Aye, as any good man would," he said. "It's pure barbarism to leave any creature out in the cold with injuries like hers, and it would have been upon pain of death had I willfully refused her entry."

He watched Edward with thinly veiled amusement, but Edward shook his head.

"No death for you yet, my friend," he sighed. "You are far too important to be so cruelly wasted."

Emmett grunted.

"You may not think so after you hear what I've come to tell you," he said. "I've come to admit my folly, and beg my King's forgiveness."

Edward turned, his head cocked.

"What possible folly could you have to confess?" he asked at once.

"Perhaps we ought to talk out there." Emmett jerked his chin towards the antechamber. "I do not wish to disturb her."

"Nor I." Edward glanced back down at her, unmoving and still. Though he longed to see her conscious— to see her wakeful, and bright, and lovely— he would not disturb her rest for it. "She is spent."

"Indeed." Emmett opened the door, letting the light spill in again. The ghastly wounds looked all the darker and it made his heart ache with to see it. Emmett watched him closely, eying the curious way his fingers lingered on her cheek, but said nothing of it when Edward came away, blinking wearily in the sunlight filtering in through the northern window.

Food had been carried in during his brief rest and was laid carefully on dishes at the far table. Edward was famished— he had not eaten properly since the night before, and even then it had been a scanty meal of rabbit and biscuits. His cook, Lessie, had outdone herself this morning, piling his table high with carved, juicy fruits, platters of soft, steaming flatbread, bowls of thick, sweet oatmeal, and a plate of glossy boiled eggs, salted and spiced to absolute perfection.

Edward tucked in at once, gesturing for Emmett to join him, and the two piled their plates high, neither speaking for a moment while they dulled the edge of their hunger, if not the substance.

"Now…" Edward chewed a peach, leaning back in his seat. "Tell me what this is all about. I promise, no matter what this so-called folly, you will be forgiven."

Emmett snorted and grinned, but put his apple down on his plate, untouched. Edward regarded this as an ominous sign. Emmett was renowned for his love of food.

"You read the letter I sent you?" he asked quickly, glancing over towards Edward's disordered, cluttered desk. "The one the bird brought?"

"Aye." Edward recalled it well. "I've never ridden faster in my life. I didn't even stop to greet Esme when I passed her on the road."

Emmett nodded carefully.

"Do you recall it well?"

"Aye," said Edward again. He plucked up an egg. "What of it?"

Emmett frowned, his lips pursed.

"The lady has returned," he paraphrased quietly, "and she is safe and well."

"Indeed…" Edward stared at the closed wood of the door, suddenly wary. Was the lady _not_ well, as Emmett had previously thought, though she rested safely in his own bed? He felt a sudden and violent urge to return to her— to press his fingers to her supple skin, to see her lovely gaze upon his face, to feel her strong, warm hands against his flesh…

"She was not alone at the gate, Edward." The King snapped back at once. He frowned, digging through his recollections for a hint of this truth and he remembered it only vaguely, as if it were an afterthought. He'd given it very little consideration at all with the matter of Bella's safety hot in his mind.

"She brought a woman with her— a woman and her child."

"I see." Edward popped a grape into his mouth. "Did you let them in, too? That is easily forgiven, Emmett…"

"Aye, I did, but that's not what I've come to confess." He pushed his plate away completely and Edward paused, a frown creeping over him. "I'm sorry to say it, but you're expected at a meeting of the Council this afternoon, just before the evening meal."

"A Council Meet?" Edward asked, surprised. "For what purpose?"

"To discuss the matters of the day," said Emmett, "and to call a hearing."

"A hearing?" Edward sat up straighter. "A hearing for what?"

Hearings were for criminals, Edward thought. Thieves and bandits, or violent offenders caught in tavern brawls or land disputes. Hearings were for farmers who could not be soothed by their Councilman, or whose strife was _with_ their Councilman, for some reason or another. Hearings were for the ear of the King, where he was expected to make a judgment, and for which he was always given ample advance warning— days, if not weeks, to prepare.

Emmett sighed, troubled and downcast, and began to speak plainly.

"The Lady arrived with a woman and a child in tow, at the Western Gate, just at the stroke of midnight," he began at once. "You know this already. She was injured and knew nothing of the curfew, and so tried to pass the gates. Joro stopped her and questioned her, but before he could send her to the camp, Ruben recognized her from the Cleansing."

"Ruben is a good lad," said Edward at once. "He'll make a fine fighter."

"Aye, he has promise," said Emmett swiftly, "but that's not my tale."

"They brought her to the Watchtower, and the Lady brought the woman and child with her. No one thought to argue it, though they had no real knowledge of who this woman was. The child, Edward, was thin and dirty, and his mother was frightened and trembling, and they thought it would be no great harm, having her with them. She was only a woman, after all, and they were armed and armoured soldiers."

"I see…"

"I was called at once and arrived as quick as I could. I admit, I did not entirely believe Ruben when he told me the tale. I didn't believe that the Lady could have returned on her own, and I was convinced that when I reached her, I'd find you or Jasper with her."

Edward's head fell.

"But you did not," he finished. "There was only her."

"Only her," agreed Emmett, "and her friend."

"And who is this friend, who seems to have you so riled?" asked Edward gently. "Who is she that she demands a hearing, and for what purpose?"

Emmett held up his hands for peace.

"I will tell you everything I know," said Emmett at once, "precious little though it may be. I spoke with the woman last night, Edward, and she told me her tale. All I ask is that when I tell you what she's said, that you listen closely and pay heed to her struggle."

"Of course I will…"

"She is _not_ a threat to us." He spoke with a solemn certainty that made Edward pause. "She is not a threat to anyone in the castle or the city."

"What is it that she's done?" asked Edward in astonishment. "Surely you're not _afraid_ of her?"

"Not a bit." Emmett stared at Edward sharply, as if assessing him. "I'm not scared _of_ her, Edward. I'm scared _for_ her."

"Surely she is well?" A healer would have been summoned, had there been any threat to life or limb…

"For now," he nodded. "But I want your word— the word of the _King_ — that she will be treated fairly once she reaches your court."

"You have it," said Edward easily. "Of course I promise. Don't fret so, Emmett. Tell me what this means."

Emmett looked more agitated than Edward had ever seen him. His fingernails, rough and broad, tapped a frenetic rhythm on the tabletop. His face was pale with tiredness— Edward doubted that he'd slept a wink all night— but his eyes were sharp, staring so intently at Edward that he felt uncomfortable, as if his friend could see something private, or sacred, that ought to remain hidden.

"What eats you?" asked Edward again, leaning forward. "You have my _absolute word,_ Emmett, that I shall treat her fairly. No matter what her crime."

"She's committed no crime," he said at once. "Not any crime that we'd convict her for, anyhow."

Edward waited, tense and quiet.

"Her name is Rosalie," he said gently. "Her child's name is Finn. He's only a boy, about three summers old, and she carries another child in her belly. She was hungry and filthy, and so given hot water and a good meal, and she slept in your castle, under the strict watch of six Kingsguards in the Council bedchambers."

Edward's eyebrows shot up in astonishment, though he did not complain. The Council beds were seldom used and he did not begrudge the fuss, though it surprised him that there had been a need for it at all.

"She has no family in the city?" he queried gently. "No friends to house her? Is she destitute, Emmett? Is that what the trouble is?"

"No, she has no family, and she may be destitute, I don't know." He ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I'll tell you true, Edward, but promise me again that you will _treat her fairly."_

Edward was astonished, and more than a little concerned, but he nodded anyway, giving another solemn vow.

"That's thrice I've promised you," he said. "Three times a King's vow. Whoever she is or whatever she's done, she will be treated with the same fairness as any citizen of my realm. No matter what she's done, she deserves that, at the very least."

Emmett's lips pursed and he hung his head.

"Then it is my duty to inform you, Sir, that she is _not_ a citizen of your realm," he said. "And neither is her son."

The quiet in the room was deafening and it made Edward's hair stand on end. His surprise made him cold, certain that he'd misheard, though Emmett mistook his silence for thoughtfulness.

"Is she…" Edward fought for the proper words. "Is she… like Bella?"

Futile and foolish though the thought was, Edward found himself wondering whether another woman had fallen from the skies, landing this time, perhaps, among the trees. Was she another survivor of that hideous crash, another kindred of those burned and sanctified corpses atop holy Terosankta?

"No, she isn't like Bella," said Emmett quickly, shaking his head. "Not even _close._ You _do_ know her, Edward, though not by her name or her face. You know who she is and where she's from, even if you think you don't."

The alternative made his brain feel numb and a hot, sticky fear bubbled up in his belly.

"She is from the West," concluded Edward, with a calmness that even he did not expect. "She is a Westerner."

Emmett hung his head in shame.

"Yes, she is of the West," he said. "She has _fled_ the West, and risked the lives of herself and her children to beg your mercy."

Edward, feeling stupid, was at a loss for words.

"You promised me fairness," Emmett reminded him at once, sensing the agitation bubbling in Edward even before it even showed on his face. "You promised _her_ a fair hearing!"

"And she shall have it." His voice was gentle. "She is entitled to it, no matter where she's come from…"

"That is not all." Emmett's voice was small now, and Edward's eyes narrowed. "There is more to her tale."

The King said nothing, listening in stony silence.

"Her given name is Rosalie," he said, "and she was of the house of Alduran. I expect that means nothing to you, as it meant nothing to me."

"Was?" The word was sharp on his tongue and Edward breathed deep. "What do you mean _was?"_

"She's a wife, Edward. She has two children."

"What do they call her now, then?"

Emmett watched him, a plaintive plea for patience unspoken his his wide, grey eyes. He heaved a great, trembling sigh, folding his hands together to stop them shaking.

"Her name is Rosalie of the House of Lamman," said Emmett in a rush, and Edward felt the bottom drop from his stomach. "She is married to Rojce, brother of the tyrant Jamos, and she has escaped him and renounced their union, fleeing to _you_ to beg your mercy."

Edward stared at him in absolute, abject astonishment. His lips, parted in shock, struggled to form the right words as a plethora of emotions— anger, pity, fear, sadness— raged a war within his breast.

"She's fled violence, Edward, and cruelty." Emmett spoke quickly, babbling in the hush. "She asks your mercy. She has _renounced_ him— completely and unreservedly— and so asks to be made whole _here_ , as a citizen of _your realm._ "

Edward found his voice, croaking out a feeble reply.

"You've brought me Rojce Lamman's wife?" he demanded, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've brought me the wife of my enemy's brother, and his _son?_ Dear God, Emmett, have you any idea how valuable, how _irreplaceable,_ that child is?"

Emmett's face fell and he nodded his head, a grim despair settling on him like a quilt. Edward's mind reeled with shock, trying to make sense of the whole thing, but he came up short, wondering if Emmett were simply dreaming.

"I _know_ , Edward, and so does _she."_ Emmett's fists clenched on the edge of the table. "Rosalie knows how important her boy is, as she told me plainly last night."

"Last night?"

"I checked in on her, after your Lady was asleep," he said at once. "Before you returned from the fields. I had promised her a bath and some food and I was teeming with questions, so I sat with her a while and heard her tale, promising that I'd relay it all to you."

Edward listened in dumb silence.

"She fled her husband, Edward, because he struck her." Edward closed his eyes. "You know Rojce, or at least the rumours we've heard, and it's hardly surprising to think that he'd hit her."

Those rumours, rising at once in his memory, made Edward's stomach clench with anger. They would never know for sure how exactly his parents had died. They did not know who was killed first, or if they perished both together, or who had dealt the final, fatal blows, but they _had_ learned, through careful spying and interception, that while Jamos was the brain of the West, the elder brother destined to rule, Rojce was the brawn. It was Rojce who wore the sword, not his brother, and they knew for certain that he was the one who had led the massacre in the Hollow Lands, when little Alice's family had been butchered like beasts. Rumours had spread like wildfire in the aftermath of royal funeral, and it had come to Edward from more than one source that it had been Rojce himself, in a fit of passionate rage, who had driven his mother through with a sword, and his father, fighting bitterly until the very end, had gone down in a bloody, violent fight. To think that this creature's _wife—_ the mother of his children— was here, in the castle, made Edward reel, and he struggled to realize what it might mean.

"No, it's not," Edward agreed with a sigh. "But how came she to be _here_ , of all places?"

"She fled," said Emmett at once. "Fled the West and ran in the night. She took her child with her— the boy is _terrified_ of his father— and when Jamos and Rojce found her missing, they sent an army out to hunt her."

Edward's head snapped up in outraged fury.

"Terosankta," he guessed angrily before Emmett could speak. "Those raiders at the Holy Lands. They weren't seeking us at all…"

Emmett grimaced in bitter agreement.

"It's my guess as well," he sighed. "That party was too skilled and too _angry_ to be a simple group of raiders. They didn't _take_ anything from us, besides the loss of life, and they didn't pursue the retreating party on the road. When the West attacks by the mountains, they are always on the hunt for supplies. This time, they took nothing. All of Bella's gifts were there, in a nice, neat pile, but it wasn't touched."

"Gods _above_ , Emmett…"

"They were looking for _her,"_ he said quickly. "I'm almost positive. As you said, that child is valuable…"

"He is priceless, if the rumours are true." Edward ran a tired hand over his eyes. "He is their only living heir, Emmett. All of Jamos' children have died within the first year. He's had eight, and not one of them yet lives. If his wife and child are gone, Rojce has only a bastard now, born to a whore, and they do not recognize such children as kin."

Emmett scowled.

"A child is a child," he said angrily, picking moodily at a spot on the table. "I will never understand that part of them."

Edward sighed, shaking his head. In the East, under the King's rule, there were no such distinctions between children produced by a loving marriage and those who were born by other means. A man's children were all equal in the eyes of Gods and men, and there was no distinction made between the children of a man's wife, and the children of his mistress. The King alone had a duty to produce a proper heir within the bonds of marriage to his Queen, but even that rule could be relaxed if the Queen did not conceive.

Most men were faithful to their wives, but _all_ men had a duty to their children.

"Neither will I," Edward grumbled. The thought of abandoning his own child, even if its mother _was_ a whore, was abhorrent. "It is a failed duty, and a terrible, grievous crime."

Edward's reign was still young and he had not yet grown comfortable with his duty to enforce the law, but a man who neglected his own child was a man beneath his dignity, and it did Edward no hardship to garnish a greedy father's gold to clothe and feed his young. A father who _could_ not pay was an object of pity. A father who _would_ not was one of contempt.

"Rosalie comes to beg your mercy," said Emmett again and Edward was broken from his thoughts, exhausted and sore. "She requests asylum for herself and for her son, and begs me to ask that if you will insist on sending her back, that her son, at least, might remain behind."

The thought of cleaving a mother from her child— of tearing that precious, sacred bond in two— made him feel ill.

"I cannot separate them," said Edward at once. "It isn't right."

"No, as I told her last night." Emmett rested his head on his fists. "She wanted Bella to take the boy when I told her she'd have to be taken into custody. I convinced her to keep him with her, as I would put neither woman nor child in a cell, and she agreed, after some coaxing."

Edward's head snapped up at once.

"Custody?" he queried. "Since when is it our custom to lock up innocents?"

Emmett went suddenly pale and his eyes flashed warily, looking sorry.

"She admitted her guilt," he said slowly, "so plainly that even _I_ could not ignore it."

"Guilt?"

"She…" Emmett watched his King with a pleading pity that gave Edward every reason to pause. "She had no choice, Edward… and it was for a very good reason."

"What did she do?"

"She…"

Edward waited with bated breath.

"She _killed_ a man, Edward." Emmett sighed the words in a tense rush. "That man by the jungle? The one Jasper wrote to you about?"

Edward, beyond shock, leaned his head against the back of his chair, staring up at the tall, gloomy ceiling.

"She killed him," finished Emmett softly. "She had a knife on her, which she gave me freely, and it still had the blood on it."

"He was stabbed twice," Edward said, glancing back at his companion. "Once in the chest, once in the belly."

"Aye, she said as much."

"Did she say why she did it?"

"Indeed, yes." Emmett peeked over at the bedroom door, which was still closed tight. "The Lady has a wound on her neck."

Edward sat up straight, his face grim.

"The man was a hunter— a rogue from the West, out to find Rosalie and her child for the bounty on their heads."

"And?"

"And, in their hunt for her, they happened across Bella. She was not their target but she would have made a welcome prize, and so Rosalie tells me that she knocked your Lady to the dirt to keep her hidden, and took her back to the cave where she'd been hiding.".

"They travelled together with the boy, the two women. Rosalie shared her food and her furs, and Bella helped her with the child, once they became friendly. On their final day in the jungle, Rosalie tells me that the man she killed— the one you found— caught up to them and thought to cut Bella's throat. The child had escaped, Rosalie was in fear for her life, and so she fought him, and won. She stabbed him twice and he bled out in the trees, and they fled into the fields, whereupon they came across the castle, some two days later."

Edward's head snapped up at once. The thought of a knife at Bella's throat made his blood run cold and a blind, savage rage made its home in his middle. He would kill any man, whether friend or foe, who dared do such a thing again, and he thought that if the assailant were not already dead and buried, he would be out on his own hunt through the trees.

"There is much to consider, Emmett, and laws to be upheld. I will look on this woman and her child for myself to see what all of this means."

Emmett remained stoic.

"And I wonder…" Edward began, letting his sentence fall short. Emmett stared at him implacably, impatient for elaboration, and spoke sharply when none came.

"You wonder what?"

"I wonder," Edward rumbled, "if this will be the tipping point in our relations with the West."

Emmett bit his tongue, silent and tense.

"I think I must meet this woman, Emmett, before I say any more." He rose at once to his feet. "I think I must speak with her and lay my eyes upon this child, for I do not know what this development means for us, though we may have no other choice."

Emmett rose at once, satisfied, yet still unhappy.

"You will see the truth, Edward." They walked towards the door. "When you lay your eyes upon her and see her for yourself, you will only see the truth."

* * *

The woman stood before him, her face a mask of white, startled shock. She trembled as he watched her, his face blank and soft as she bowed, her head bent low over the floor beneath his boots. The child stared in fright, his body shielded by a pillow from the bed, and he caught Emmett's eye with particular terror, whimpering and scampering like a shot from their line of sight. Edward watched the motion with surprise, but did not comment.

"Your Grace." The woman's accent was faint, but discernible. There was a hint of foreignness about her that made Edward pause. "Your Grace, I…"

"Rise," said Edward at once, his hand on her arm. She shook beneath him, looking for all the world as if she might faint, and he watched her with concern, taking in the bruises on her shoulder with mild affront.

She was not at all what Edward had expected.

Women from the West, though he'd seen precious few of them for himself, were doughty. Rumour did not call them beautiful, as this creature clearly was, but as fighters with hard, wiry faces and strong, immovable bodies. This woman looked nothing of the sort— she was not hard, as a warrior ought to be, and though her stomach swelled with budding life, her shape was slender and feminine. Her eyes were wide and cornflower blue, and though they were clouded over with worry, they shone out from a face direct from myth. Her features were as fine and delicate as any Edward had ever seen, and he was struck by a curious, passing thought that posited that her likeness had been crafted by the creator God himself, to teach mere mortals of the joy and splendour of beauty.

She blushed beneath his stare, her cheeks pink with shame, and Edward checked himself at once, forcing himself back to reality. She seemed unsteady, swaying slightly where she stood and he urged her swiftly to a chair before she could fall. She sat down shakily, her hands clutching her belly beneath the crisp linen of her dress, and he watched her with an ever-growing pity that began to melt away his hardness.

"You know who I am," said Edward gently, "and Emmett has told me of you. I welcome you to the East."

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. She seemed to collect herself for a moment and Edward saw a distinct impatience in her pretty face before she masked it, sitting herself up a little straighter, her spine stiff and set. In an instant she looked every bit the noble wife— she was a shaking, frightened girl no longer— meeting his gaze with sharp acuity and a quiet, careful quickness. Edward thought he saw a bit of pride in her, or perhaps vanity, but she schooled her features into a familiar false politeness reserved only for a King, and he bit back his irritation with great difficulty.

"Thank you." She sat upright and tall. "I thank you, sire…"

The boy in the bed, peeking shyly over the cushions in the bed, watched him with a sobriety and focus that was unnerving in a child so small. Though he whimpered and shuffled nearer to his mother, she did not take her eyes from the King. While his head was turned she smoothed her hair from her face, gathering it in a twist at the nape of neck and tucked it securely behind her back. The child began to cry when his mother ignored him and she spared him only a swift, scolding glance before he took to the pillows again, hiding his face altogether.

She toyed with the edge of her dress, as if embarrassed, and Edward spoke again. The question was a mere pleasantry.

"I trust you've been comfortable?"

"Yes indeed." She nodded quickly. "Very comfortable. The bed is warm and the food is fine. I thank you, sir, for your hospitality."

She jumped when Emmett closed the door, tucking himself away in the corner of the room. She stared at him, full of surprise, as he installed himself by the door to stand sentry like a gargoyle, his face impassive. Edward took the chance to study her, and noticed at once the curious vulnerability that crossed her when she caught his eye. It made her look young and at once he could see her as she must have been as a child, but that part of her was trampled down the moment it showed. She watched Emmett as if he might speak for her, as if he might explain her circumstances to him and save her the trouble, but Edward was not interested in hearing any more from _him._

"Emmett is my dear friend. Did he tell you that?"

Rosalie's head snapped back to him with a frown and she nodded her head. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and he saw her fingers shake, though she clenched them together to keep them still.

"He did," she said. "He told me you and he are very close."

"It's true." Edward, grabbing the vacant chair on the far wall, pulled it to the other end of the small desk and sat, resting his elbows on the top. The woman turned in her seat, facing him square on. "I trust him implicitly."

She said nothing.

"So tell me." He reached for the ewer of water and a cup, pouring a drink for himself and the woman. She took it graciously but did not drink, waiting patiently while Edward took a careful sip. "Is what he told me true?"

She watched him, her face frozen.

"I don't _know_ what he told you," she said finally, her words slow and careful. "I only know what _I_ told _him."_

"Indeed." He drained his cup. "But I ask you… did you speak the truth, when you told him your tale?"

The woman flinched away, her face pinched.

"I told him nothing _but_ the truth," she said at once. "Only that, and nothing less."

"The tale he told is astonishing," Edward returned. "Some might call it fancy."

"It's _not_ fancy…"

"How do I know that's true?" he asked. He was not unkind and he did not speak harshly to her, but she recoiled from him in a sudden flare of fear that drove an icy spike into his heart. The reaction made him angry, though it was not outrage at _her,_ and he fought to reign it in, refusing to let it show on his face.

"You said you trusted him," she said lowly. "What of that?"

"Aye, I do trust _him,"_ Edward replied pointedly. "I've no doubt that Emmett tells me the truth."

"But you do not trust _me."_ Her shoulders fell. "You do not trust that _I_ tell the truth."

He remained silent, assessing her closely.

"You understand, of course," he continued quickly, "that as King of this realm, it is my duty to protect my people?"

"Of course."

"And that means vetting each and every person who seeks to gain entrance to my Kingdom." The words hung heavy in the air. "You've given me no reason to suspect you, but fewer reasons still to trust you. I have no idea who you are or what your goal might be and I come here today to figure you out, so we can decide what is to be done. Emmett has woven a fabulous tale, I must say, and I long to hear it from your own lips so that I may judge for myself."

She sat up straighter with a face full of hard determination. She no longer trembled beneath his gaze but met his eye with courage, her lovely face belying none of her former tremors. She steeled herself, as if preparing for battle, and began at once to tell her tale, weaving the same, inexplicably fantastical story as he'd heard from Emmett, down to the most private, intimate details. She spoke without feeling, as if she were merely reciting instead of telling, and Edward let her speak uninhibited, holding his hand up for silence when Emmett threatened to interrupt.

One look at his Commander sent the latter into a chastised silence, and he retreated even further into the shadows, his arms crossed tightly around his chest.

Edward heard the details her flight. He heard how her husband, Rojce, had whipped her soundly for her mouth, not a thought in the world for the babe in her belly. She told him how her son, only just three, had lashed out at his father in his mother's defense and had been struck, hard, across the thighs with a belt.

She hauled the child from the covers though he squealed and cried in protest, and she hiked up the leg of his pants to show him the welts, which were raised, red, and raw.

She had fled into the jungle. She had hidden, in trees and caves, from her husband's army of searchers. He'd sent dozens after her— some north, and some south— and she'd evaded them all with nothing but a bag of furs, food, and the clothes on her back. Her child had cried in the night. They'd gone hungry on more than one occasion. She'd evaded the parties sent out to find her, but attracted the attention of the hunters— those savage, cruel men whose specialty was tracking, who could trace a deer through the trees for miles and days, without tiring, and without stopping.

They never lost a hunt, she said. They knew all the tracks, and all the signs. She'd hidden in a cave to avoid the worst of it, and that was where she'd found Bella. She'd been checking a snare deep in the jungle when she'd seen a woman running, and she'd heard the angry, pounding footsteps of the men on her tail.

She'd brought Bella back to the cave. She'd let her wash and change her clothes, feeding her some of the tacky seawater biscuits that were a hardy staple in the West. She'd stolen them from Rojce's larder, and she suspected he was now going hungry. She didn't care, she said— she hoped that he had suffered just as much as she had— but she thought about it nevertheless, wondering what he might do to her if he managed to drag her back.

She told him of the walking— of the incessant, tiresome trek through jungle. She'd been directing them towards the Miner's Cave, where she knew there'd be a road. She wanted to find the capital, to find the King and ask his mercy…

He heard the rest with silent concentration.

When the tale was over and her words sputtered out Edward sighed, resting his chin atop his fingers. Her eyes danced across his face, bright and wary with concern, and she blurted out a question before he could ask any of his own.

"Where is Bella?" she asked in a rush. "Is she alright?"

"She is well…"

"Has she seen the healer? That cut on her throat is deep…"

"She is asleep," said Edward at once. "Upstairs. She's seen a healer and will see another one today, once my Uncle rises and finds his way upstairs."

Rosalie bit her lip.

"Has she…"

"She's done nothing but sleep," said Edward gently. "She was bathed and fed last night, as I expect you were, and put right to sleep. I arrived in the night and she did not wake, and when I left her this morning, she slumbered still."

"She's not cut out for that kind of life, running wild in the trees," said Rosalie at once. "She's a very gentle creature."

His heart fluttered in his breast. His very being seemed attuned to Bella and he ached with a need to return to her, where he could see and hear her. It made him nervous to hear Rosalie speak of her so intimately, as if she knew her in ways he didn't, and he changed the subject quickly.

"Emmett told me your wish is to remain in the East," said Edward. "He told me that you've asked him for sanctuary… is this true?"

Her breath caught and she began to tap her fingers, her eyes falling closed as she fought back a sudden tightness in her throat.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, he speaks true."

She stared at Emmett with plaintive worry. Edward waited until she looked away, making her look at him, instead, and gauged her face very closely.

"He also told me," he continued, "that if I deny your claim— if I decide to send you back to the West— that you want us take your son into our custody, and, I assume, the child you carry. Is this true?"

Her face, which had been stoic and strong, broke like china thrown to the floor. Fissures opened at once, the cracks spreading until the tears brimmed up, making her eyes even bluer, and her cheeks go pale.

"A good mother does not abandon her babies," she whispered, and Edward was surprised to hear a break in her voice. "A good mother does not _leave_ them. Yet I admit, freely and willingly, that this _is_ true, despite it all." Her words sobered him, a sadness rising up. "I _would_ ask this of you, though I know it is deplorable."

"Tell me why." Edward interrupted her, handing her a handkerchief from his own pocket. She dabbed her eyes angrily, as if she were ashamed of her tears, and swallowed back a lump in her throat, glancing back with unfathomable heartache at her wide-eyed little son.

"He's just a boy," she said shakily. "Only a _baby._ His father…"

Her teeth clenched when the tears fell harder and she shook herself sternly, looking for all the world as if she were embarrassed by her feelings. It made Edward grieve to see it— he knew this woman only briefly, having only just met her, but he knew without a doubt that there was no shame in a mother's love.

"Rojce is cruel," said Rosalie bluntly, digging her teeth into her lip to stop them trembling. "He is a tyrant, and he has no love in his heart for me, or our son."

The boy cowered away again when he heard his mother's anger, burrowing in the blankets with dread.

"I renounce him." Her voice went cold. "I renounce our vows, which were spoken in falsehood, and I renounce our love, if it ever was at all. I deny his right to my children, deny my children's right to _him,_ and I willingly relinquish any and all privilege I might have held when I was by his side, though there was precious little to be had at all."

Edward sat back, his face stern. Her words were a good as true, though they had not been tested before the Royal Court. Renunciation was a powerful thing in the eyes of the law, and well Rosalie seemed to know it. A wife who renounced her husband renounced everything she had— her partner, her home, and her honour.

Edward said nothing and Rosalie fell silent, each considering the other for a long span of time. Edward felt a stirring in his heart for her— pity for her poverty, admiration for her courage, and a deep-rooted respect for the love she showed her son, for whom she had given up so much, and to whom she was completely and utterly devoted. This woman was a mother first— Edward saw it clear— and that selfless love for her frightened boy steeled the resolve in his heart.

"Do you know, Rosalie, anything of the laws of the East?"

She blinked in surprise and shook her head.

"I know there is a King," she said slowly, "and a court. I know not how you operate, or what your duties might be…"

"It is my right, as King, to determine the fate of any woman who throws herself upon our mercy. _My_ right, you see… not the right of the court."

She said nothing, her brow furrowed.

"Had you been a man, you would have been forced to stand before the courts," he continued. "You would have been forced to explain yourself to all twelve of my Councilors, and you would have had to convince at least seven of them to rule in your favour. They are all good men, of course— it would not do to have evil or hateful advisors so close to the throne— but they can be a difficult crowd to please, especially those with deep-seated beliefs."

Her eyes raked the floor, her face pale and ashen.

"Most likely you would have gained a few supporters," he continued. "Lorenzo, for one. He is a good man, and one of the kindest souls you'd ever meet. He'd rally for you, I'm almost certain of it, once he was sure you were not a threat to public safety."

"I _killed_ a man," she said softly. "I _have_ been a danger."

"You killed a man in self-defense," he replied. "That is not the same as willful murder."

"I didn't strike to wound," she whispered. Edward admired her bravery at this admission, but shook his head nonetheless. "I meant to kill him, and so I did."

"Your actions were taken to protect one of my own," said Edward. "You saved Bella's life, do you realize that?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you must know, as well as I, that such an action would never be deemed a crime. Not in my eyes."

She stared up at him in awe.

"I do not punish those who act in defense of the ones I love," said Edward. "Bella is not my family— not in the strictest sense— but she is as dear and precious to me as if she were. It does me great injury to think of her in danger."

Rosalie said nothing, but her face remained fixed and serious.

"You protected her, and you kept her safe," he said. "The fact that she is alive right now, sleeping in my chamber, is more than enough proof of that. Your crime is not what drives my hesitation, Rosalie."

"So you do hesitate," she said at once. He saw a vein throbbing in her neck. "You _do_ hesitate…"

"I must," he said swiftly, "though I think my choice is clear."

She held her breath, her cheeks flushing red.

"You will _not_ be hauled before my Council," he said gently, "though I thought to make it so. You will not be forced to retell this story to more strangers, though they will certainly demand to hear it from me. They will not like having a stranger in their midst, especially one with your background _,_ but they will come to accept it, in time."

She continued to stare, saying nothing.

"I think I must," he said finally, "grant you your request."

She deflated like a soap bubble. Her fear— which Edward swiftly realized had been morphing into terror— snapped to disbelief and she swallowed, her eyes pinched shut in bone-rattling relief.

"I will let you stay," said Edward softly, and she laughed to herself, "but I must ask you a question, first."

"Anything." She rubbed her belly almost unconsciously, her lips pulled into an involuntary smile. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Does your husband know where you were headed?" he asked quietly, and her head snapped up at once. "Does he know you've come here, to me?"

"I…" She glanced back at her son, who was watching with wide, interested eyes. "I don't know."

Edward felt exhausted.

"Because if he does," he continued, "do you understand what that might mean for us?"

"I can guess…"

"If Rojce Lamman finds out that I've granted asylum to his wife, it will be grounds for great unrest," said Edward plainly. Emmett, bristling, shifted in the corner. "If he finds out that I've taken his _children,_ the only heirs to their Western leadership, it will be enough to start a war."

"I don't know if he knows." Her voice trembled with strain. "I didn't leave a note. I didn't tell him where I was."

"Aye." Edward bowed his head. "But when you spoke of the hunters…"

"Yes?"

"You said _they,"_ he prodded gently. "You didn't say _he_ or _him_ … you said _them."_

Her head snapped up, stricken, and he saw the realization dawning on her face.

"There were _two,_ " she whispered, her heart hammering a furious rhythm in her chest. "There were _two_ hunters, and I only killed one."

Edward sat back in his seat, an anxious, heavy stone settling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

When Bella woke, buried deep in the comfort of the downy mattress, it felt like she was surfacing from a pool of liquid honey, so heavy, sweet, and delicious that she lingered for a while in that strange, floating space between sleeping and waking. Her breaths were slow and warm, bathing her face as it ruffled around the covers, and when she wiggled her feet beneath the sheets they were awkward and stiff. She huddled deeper into her little pallet of sleep-warmth, clenching her eyes shut against the glow that was slowly infiltrating her dreamy bubble, and though she did not immediately remember where she was or why, she was in no rush to return to the land of the living.

She lay with her eyes closed for a while, trying in vain to return back to sleep, but her stomach was growling and her muscles were stiff, so she cracked her eyes open with trepidation, blinking at the sight before her.

She was in the King's room, she remembered. She was in the King's _bed_ , beneath his covers and lying comfortably on his pillows and sheets. The air was deliciously warm, perfumed by some unknown herb or spice, and she breathed it in deeply, turning over in the bed with careful, tentative movements.

She saw him almost at once, sitting hunched in the shadows with eyes blazing like coals in the hearth. His face was dark, unreadable in the gloom, and her breath caught in her throat, surprised to see him so near. When he caught her gaze those coals burst into flame and he smiled— a wide, true, beaming smile that lit up his whole face— and her cheeks darkened in response, her body engulfed by a frantic, tearful joy.

"Edward…" The word had hardly passed her lips before he had risen from his seat and was across the room, kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He watched her with an inexplicable tenderness, his face alight with joy, and he grabbed her, gentle for all his suddenness, in a fierce and tight embrace.

"You've come home," he murmured, and she felt his breath upon her cheek. "You've come home, Bella, and I think my heart must burst with joy."

"Edward…"

He held her close in the silence of the bedchamber, his hands fisted in the nightdress at her back. She could feel his heart against her, thrumming like a hammer against cloth, and she relished it, feeling its rhythm become her own. She said nothing at all, wrapped in his warmth and his scent, and her tears— of joy or relief, she could not tell which— dampened the collar of his shirt. Her cheeks were scarlet, though he did not mind, and he stroked her long, damp hair, dropping his face to hers with a darkening need. He ran his fingers over her as if he marveled at the sight, and she did not flinch when he dusted over her cheeks, her nose, tickling her neck and her chin. Only when he was through, his inventory complete, did he take her bruised face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers with a bright-eyed tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat, her hands tremble on his wrists.

She felt his lips, shaking and soft, press an ardent, fervent kiss to her temple.

Her head dropped to his shoulder and she let him hold her, her arms around his back and her cheek upon his chest. His face buried in her hair, dropping another kiss at her crown, and she felt it shiver down to her very toes. She found herself weeping, though she was not quite sure why she did, and he rocked her, pulling her body close to his so that their breaths rushed in time like the wings of heavy, sailing birds. Her heart sang for him, sore though it was, and when she felt another sweet caress on the apple of her cheek, the tip of her nose, the point of her chin, she felt safe, and joyful, and loved.

"You've come home," he said again, dropping another kiss to the side of her face. "You've come home, Bella. You're safe now, sweetheart, and you are _home."_

She did not let him go.

 **A/N: SO. Those of you who follow me on Twitter already know this, but this particular chapter was a BEAST to finish. At over 10,000 words it is one of the longest in the story so far, and still, there are 11 unused pages of plot and dialogue that were cut or replaced before this final version. Those of you who are writers might understand when I say that the characters in this chapter seemed bound and determined to misbehave. That might sound weird to those of you who don't write, but these characters have a mind of their own. As with every chapter, I have a clear vision of where I want it to take us, ****but the particular road we took this time was long and winding. Here are only some of the problems that my characters gave me, in no particular order:**

 **-Bella and Edward REFUSED to advance their plot (and when they DID agree to cooperate, the first three versions were rife with cringy dialogue)  
-Edward seemed bound and determined to FIGHT EVERYONE (version 1 had him shouting at Rosalie, and version 2 had an almost-brawl with Emmett)  
-Rosalie wanted to be a quivering, snivelling mess (which could absolutely NOT be allowed to happen) and it took several story versions for her to put on her big girl pants  
-Ditto for Bella, who would have used all the handkerchiefs in the castle had I given her the chance.**

 **It took some time to whip everyone into shape. I hope you like where we ended up. Some of you were very curious about what happened to Edward Sr. and Elizabeth, and I hope the memory at the start helped clear it up for you.**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Yikes, guys. Thanks for sticking with me. Please see my note at the end for another long ramble, which may or may not answer some questions you have.**

 **Chapter 31**

They woke together in a tangled pile of limbs, her head on his chest and his hands on her back. She felt his breath on her hair, steady and warm as it moved between his parted lips, sending wispy strands to tickle her cheek and her chin. She shifted as she stirred, brushing a clumsy hand over her face to wash away the cobwebs, and when her arm fell to his stomach, lazy and quick, she saw his eyes snap open with a sudden and palpable wonder.

They did not move from their places, though their bodies were stiff and sore. They did not rise from their bed, though their eyes were wide and wakeful. They did not speak, and they did not sigh, and they did not move so much as a muscle on their bones as they watched each other, green eyes fixed on hazel, white cheeks juxtaposed by tanned and freckled brown.

Her eyes, he saw, were red and raw. Tracks from salty tears had carved a path from her lashes to her chin, draining her cheeks of their usual pink flush. Dark circles eroded the pallor beneath her eyes and made them look deeper and more weary, as if she had been pulled from the very depths of sleep by a sudden and turbulent dream. He watched her openly, as he'd never dared to do before, and he noted with gladness that she watched him, too. He studied her, taking in the point of her chin and the curve of her jaw with a new and profound familiarity that had been never been explored before.

She was beautiful to him. Her face was a map—she wore her joys and sorrows like paths of stone, etched on her by a master craftsman. He saw her twinkles and her shadows, plain as writing on a page as she brought her cracked lip between her teeth which glistened like pearls in their overwhelming whiteness. Every line of her was slender, as fine and delicate as hand-tatted lace, and he longed to run his fingers over them to feel her facets and grooves beneath her soft, silken exterior. Her hand, still twined with his, felt warm between his fingers and he touched the smoothness of her palm with the calloused pad of his thumb, marvelling at the sheer softness of her skin. She did not move as his fingers roved over hers, and she kept her big, marvellous eyes glued to him, a serene expression of curious interest warring with the tiredness on her face.

 _The world was quiet here,_ he thought, _and he was overjoyed to have her near._

"Have you any idea how glad I am?" he queried gently and she blinked with a start, as if his words had jolted her from some unknown, waking dream. She squirmed against his chest, settling only once her head lay sweetly on his shoulder.

"What for?" she asked, her voice rough and low. He shivered at the sound. "What makes you glad?"

"You do," said Edward at once. "You make me happy. Your safe return is a blessing, and I've been thanking the Gods every moment I'm able."

Her face turned a brilliant scarlet and she turned away, tucking her head beneath his chin with a sniffle. Edward schooled his face into seriousness before she saw him grin, mastering himself to keep his sudden mirth a secret. Somehow, he believed that she would not appreciate it as he did. She wormed her way further beneath the sheets and blankets until they came up to her neck, and she fell still and quiet with her nose pressed to his throat.

He could feel her hiccupping breaths against his clavicle, tickling and soft. His hand rose unbidden and rested itself on her hair, smoothing back the soft tendrils that had fallen by her temple. She closed her eyes with a flutter, shifting when his fingers began to comb, and she arched herself like a cat when his other hand began to trace patterns on her back, feeling every curve and divot of her spine. She was still skinny—far too skinny—and she'd lost even more weight during her ordeal in the jungle. Carlisle would see to that, Edward knew, and she was not in any immediate danger, but it unsettled him when he realized just how tiny she really was—how small, and breakable, and unbelievably weak.

When she lifted her head again, he saw the strain in her neck.

"Lay back," he ordered at once, and she brought her head back down without complaint. "You look clean worn out, Bella."

She snorted, shifting her body off of his chest. He lamented her loss at once, feeling the chamber's chill replacing her warmth, but she settled comfortably back on her pillow, her face turned towards his.

"If you're saying I look like death, then you'd be right," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I don't need it pointed out to me, thank you very much…"

"I'd never say anything of the sort." He took her hand again and she did not complain. "I only speak at all because I'm worried for you."

Curiously, she cocked her head to the side. Edward said nothing, falling into another silence, but their peace did not last long before Bella spoke again. A flicker of fear passed over her face in a flash that Edward was quick enough to catch, and she held it there, in precarious motions of her eyes and lips, which became dark, and tearful, and downturned.

"You've nothing to fear from me," said Edward gently. She shook her head at once. "Nothing at all, Bella. I speak out of nothing more than concern. I hope you know that."

"I'm not _scared,"_ she said at once. A flash of stubbornness, tinged with the slightest bit of resilience, shot through her and with a prideful shake of her head she dismissed it at once. "I'm just…"

He waited, quiet and patient.

"…exhausted," she finished lamely. "I'm so bone-achingly _tired,_ Edward, and I can hardly fathom why."

"You've had a shock," he reasoned. "A great and terrible shock, really… and your body has not yet healed. You yet bear the scars from your _first_ brush with danger…"

Her wrist, swollen and purple, was hot beneath his fingers.

"That's new," she corrected. She pulled it away from him, holding it out before them like a specimen to be studied, and even with the curtains closed and the fire low, he could see the violent hues of dusky blue. The swelling ran from her elbow down to the middle of her fingers, which were hooked like claws to ease the stretch of her skin. Boro had wrapped it properly—Edward could see the crisscross of linen bandages around the broken bone, splinting it to keep it true, but still, he thought it must have hurt her. It was the same wrist she'd broken before when she'd washed up on Little Beach. Even at Terosankta it had bothered her still, weeks after the original injury. Edward suspected now that it would bother her always—broken bones were like that sometimes. If the injury was too great or if it was left untended for too long, sometimes it did not knit properly and would be aching and sore until its owner was aged and grey.

"Does it hurt?" he asked gently. Her arm shook with the strain of keeping it held aloft and he lowered it gently to the bed, letting her tuck it securely at her hip. She watched him with careful consideration, shrugging her shoulder to her ear.

"No more than normal," she replied. "It's been sore ever since the first time."

She tucked it deep beneath the covers.

"Carlisle will tend to it," promised Edward. "Is there anything else that hurts?"

She grimaced and turned away. The disgust on her face might have been comical had Edward not been so deadly serious. He wanted to know her aches—wanted to soothe them and bring her peace—and when she did not respond, simply fixing her stare at the trusses on the ceiling, he grew anxious and worried.

"If you're not well, Bella, you must say so," he said at once. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. "It will do you no good to hide it."

"I'll be fine," she quipped. "Don't worry too much about me."

 _He would always worry about her,_ he thought, though he kept that musing to himself. _How could he not?_

"Are you hurting?" he asked again, leaning up on his elbow. She surveyed him quietly, her lips pressed together in an immovable line, but when his attention did not waver and his stubbornness set in, he saw her body deflate and she sank deeply into the thick feather mattress.

"Nothing worth telling," she said finally. "My wrist, of course, is sore, and my feet…"

Edward recalled the angry blisters he'd seen on her toes and frowned, glancing down at her curled legs beneath the blankets. She shifted them uncomfortably and his eyes snapped away at once, suddenly aware that his stare might not only be unseemly and boorish, but absolutely unwelcome.

He glanced instead to her throat, which was still wrapped in white, clean linen. The wound had not wept like it had the night before and was not so wet and red, but there was a fine, pink line seeping up from the very core of it. She reached her fingers to it when she saw him looking and grimaced, her hands snapping away from the wetness at once.

"It's not sore," she said quietly. "Not like I thought it would be."

"It's a foul wound, and that's a fact." He felt a bubble of anger in his throat. "I saw it last night, while you rested."

"I…" Her cheeks went pink again and he saw her hesitate, her lip disappearing once more between her teeth. She looked away from him, staring off into some unknown space on the wall and he did not press her, waiting in patient silence until she continued.

"I thought he might actually do it, you know." She drew the covers up to cover her chin. "I thought he might cut my neck clean through."

A terrible pity, both searing and icy, shot through him. Like a trickle of oil that touched the merest breath of flame, he felt it flare and roar in a raging inferno, making his ears ring and his face go hard. He saw her worry—saw how her face contorted and fell when she looked upon it plainly—but he could not call it back. He could not pack it away again in its nice, neat box, and so he let it burn, fire and ice colliding in violent enemy battle. She moved to turn away from him, to slide her body further and further until she could slip off the bed entirely and he felt his hand reach out, quick and soft, to hold her still.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he said at once, and when she did not fight to free herself, he felt some of the flames in his chest doused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You didn't." She wiggled her arm free, setting it back on the mattress without meeting his eye. "I'm not _scared."_

"What are you, then?"

"I'm…" She shook her head as if to clear it, but the motion evidently caused her some discomfort. She clenched her eyes shut against a sudden flare of pain and he held absolutely, perfectly still, waiting for the moment when she would look at him again.

"I'm _tired,"_ she said finally. "I'm so _tired,_ Edward, and I can't even _think_ straight."

"Do you want to sleep again?"

She shook her head at once.

"No," she said firmly. "No, I don't. I've slept enough to carry me through next week."

"Not quite so much," he returned with a chuckle. "It's only now just approaching dinner hour."

She sat up quickly, her face stark with astonishment.

"It's so late?" she asked, wiggling her legs over the edge of the mattress. "How long have I been here?"

"Easy, Bella…" He pulled her back to bed and she came with great resistance, finally flopping back against the cushions once she realized that her feet were in no shape to hold any weight. "You've been back not even a full day. You arrived last night, just around midnight."

"And I slept the whole day?" Her eyes bugged out. "It's what… almost sunset?"

"Some hours yet," he soothed. "The shadows only start to grow long…"

"Have _you_ slept?" she demanded, suddenly nervous. He watched her eyes flicker down his body, lingering painfully on the scratch at his arm. "Christ, Edward… I'm in your _bed."_

He did not recognize the curse but understood its meaning well enough. He shook his head to dispel her embarrassment but it did not soothe her and she became suddenly shy, her eyes fixed flinchingly on the sheets.

"You were brought here because it was the best place for you," he said. "I don't mind… not one bit."

Her eyes flashed with sudden suspicion and she surveyed him coolly, as if she might be able to catch him in a lie.

"Where did _you_ sleep, then?" she demanded. "If I'm _here,_ where did you spend the night?"

"I spent the night atop Magnus, riding through the fields," he quipped with a laugh. "We ran quite quickly to return home, and I was overjoyed to find you just as you were, asleep and at rest."

"Why were you out so late at night?" she asked. Confusion warred with inquiry and she studied him with surreptitious curiosity. He blinked at her, surprised by the question, but answered it as honestly as he could.

"I was looking for _you,"_ he explained. "Jasper was out with the men and he sent me a very disturbing note…"

She said nothing at all, the wrinkle between her brows deepening by the second.

"He told me of a body," explained Edward. "He wrote to tell me they'd found a corpse in the jungle. No one had heard anything of or from you for nigh on a week, and we were beginning to fear the worst. He did not explain, and didn't offer any kind of elaboration and so I knew I _had_ to go, though Carlisle would have forbidden it in an instant if he'd had any belief that I might be inclined to listen."

"Jasper?" She sat up clumsily, the blankets falling away at her waist. "Why was _Jasper_ out in the west?"

"Searching." The word made him proud and frightened in equal measure. "He wanted to help, and I was otherwise indisposed…"

Her gaze flickered to the wound again though she said nothing, biting her tongue as she waited for him to conclude.

"I went out at once, as soon as I had the note in my hand," he went on. "I prayed the whole way that it would not be _your_ body that we found, but I held a terrible, angry fear that it _was._ Imagine my relief when it was only a man."

Edward knew at once that Bella understood when her face turned a ghastly grey. She looked ready to faint or be sick—which, Edward did not know—and he brushed his fingers over the apple of her cheek, feeling a sudden cool clamminess that made him worry.

"Hush, sweetheart…" The endearment made her hiccup. "Don't worry, Bella. I know all about it…"

"He did _this."_ She brought her hands to her throat. "He… cut me."

"I know…"

"He…" Tears welled in her big, limpid eyes and he pulled her close again, feeling her breath at his neck. She did not pull back, pressing her nose into the crook of his shoulder, taking deep, soothing breaths to calm herself.

"He… tried to _grab_ me," she said, muffled and soft. "He tried to…"

Fury rose like a snake and Edward jerked away at once, taking her bewildered face in his hands to look her in the eye.

"Did he _touch_ you, Bella?" The thought made him feel violently ill. "Did that cretin… _assault_ you?"

He felt her head shake at once, her eyes suddenly wide with realization. He saw the anxious truth in her face—in the brightness of her gaze, the steadiness of her stare—and relief like a wave washed over him, cool and soothing, until he felt his spine relax and his hands, gripping her cheeks with fervor, loosen. He brought his lips to her forehead in complete and utter relief, allowing himself to linger there for a long, pregnant pause before he pulled away again, letting her rest her cheek against his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said at once, feeling the shaking in her limbs. "I'm sorry to demand it so rudely, but you know, Bella…"

She stilled, her eyes wide and alert.

"I don't think I could have borne it if he had," he said. "I don't think I could have ever forgiven him."

She shivered uncomfortably and he fell still again, letting her gather herself without interruption.

"He didn't," she assured him finally. "Though I don't doubt that he _would_ have, if he'd had the chance. But…"

Her face went lax and she blinked. Edward watched this shift with mild concern, but waited for her to speak before he questioned it.

"I arrived with a woman," she said, a sudden urgency making her tremble. "I arrived with a friend, Edward, and her son…"

"Hush, do not fret." The palms of his hands, splayed across her back, began a soothing motion that made her still. "Your friend is well. I've spoken to her myself and know all about her part in your… adventure."

She stared up at him, pulling back slightly to look him full in the face.

"Did she tell you…?"

"I know everything." Her face froze in surprise. "I know who she is and why she's come, and how she came to be here with you, and what she was forced to do to keep the three of you safe, when the enemy came running."

Her shoulders sagged with abject relief.

"So you know that…"

"I know that she stabbed that man," said Edward gently. "I know that she killed him. And I also know that if she hadn't, that man would have killed _you,_ and taken her and her child back to an abusive, hateful enemy of my people. Your friend is safe, Bella. She is well cared for."

"Emmett arrested her."

"Emmett did exactly what he had to," Edward soothed. "Her freedom was not his to give, and granting her asylum was not his choice to make."

Her eyes fluttered closed again in a pinch and he continued on, hoping his words would bring her peace.

"Rosalie spoke her truth to me just this morning, and I've decided to rule in her favour. We have laws here, Bella, to dictate our choices at times just like these. Her crime has been forgiven, for it is no true crime under such threat and duress. The rest comes easy—she seeks safety and asylum, and has renounced her claims on the West and its people. She has renounced her position and whatever meagre privilege it gave her, and she has renounced her husband, who was cruel to her and a brute to his son. She is, for all intents and purposes, a citizen of the realm, and once tonight's council is concluded, we will know exactly where she should go, and when."

"Go?" Bella blinked up at him with astonished sadness. "She'll have to go?"

"I expect she'll _want_ to go, after the time she's had," he returned. "She will not be forced, of course, and there is no rush, but she has a small child already and a baby on the way. She will need a _home_ , Bella, and we are well prepared to give her one."

"Will she leave the city?"

"If she wants to." Edward nodded carefully. "She will not be _forced._ Only under the most extenuating of circumstances would I ever _make_ her leave, if she wanted to stay. She will want to work, most likely, or perhaps she will remarry. Perhaps _both,_ I don't know. There are many women in the city who manage both husbands and jobs."

The thought made her chuckle and he relished the sound, holding on to it when she fell into a calm, ruminating silence.

"She saved my life," said Bella after a long moment of quiet. "I'd have never found my way out of that jungle without her, and I most certainly wouldn't have made it back to the castle in one piece."

"I expected as much." He felt her arms, weak and skinny though they were, tighten their grip around his waist. "And I'm very glad you _did_ find her."

"I never want to go into the jungle again," she said with a shiver. "Fifty years would be too soon…"

They said nothing for a spell, each simply sitting in the silence of the warm afternoon. Bella did not pull herself away from him as Edward thought she might, and so he did not take his hands from her back. His soft touch seemed to soothe her, as if the careful kneading of his hands was relieving her tension bit by bit, and only when she began to wiggle uncomfortably, the knots in her back hardening with the strain of remaining bent and prone, did they lay back against the cushions again, drawing the covers up to preserve their warmth.

Their solitude lasted only a few minutes before there was a soft knock on the bedroom door and Bella was startled out of her sleepy stupor. She jumped, dislodging his hands from her back, and scrambled up in sudden apprehension, her face a mask of worry.

"It's alright…" Edward swung his legs stiffly over the edge of the mattress, rising in a long, fluid motion. She watched him go with quiet nerves. "It'll only be Carlisle coming to check on you, or perhaps Aunt Esme…"

The knocker was revealed to him the minute he cracked open the door. In a rush of skirts and a patter of hard shoes against the floor, Edward was pushed aside by his Aunt, who only had eyes for the girl in the bed.

"Oh, _sweetheart!"_

She threw herself at Bella and snatched her up like a little child, crushing her to her breast in a tearful purging of a week's worth of worry. Edward looked away from their reunion, feeling rather like an intruder in his own rooms, and allowed his brother and his uncle in with awkward courtesy.

"Did you sleep?" asked Carlisle, reaching out for a hug that Edward did not deny him. The women in the bed were weeping, each babbling questions at the other with a frantic haste that made the tears break into laughter, and back into tears once more. The catharsis was a wrench to watch—neither one seemed truly ready to tend the other—and yet with a mysterious potency that seemed unique to the fairer sex, the tears seemed cleansing. Edward watched over his uncle's shoulder as Esme smoothed Bella's hair between her strong, warm hands, and Bella, laughing and crying in equal measure, gripped Esme in a tight, fearsome grip.

"Some," Edward said quietly, not wishing to disturb their moment. "Not much, I think…"

"And you have a Council meet this evening," sighed the healer. "You'll be clean worn out by the day's end. I'm sure of it."

"I'll manage." Edward drew his hand over his face, willing away his sudden and intense weariness. The thought of the Council daunted him, but he knew there was nothing else for it. "They'll see sense, once their shock wears off."

"Is she really going to stay, Ed?" asked Jasper, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet. It made Edward smile to see it—he had seemed so big and grown up this past week that it was a relief to see some lingering wisps of boyhood. "Did she say so, Ed?"

"Which one do you mean?" Edward chuckled. "There are _two_ women now, under my care…"

"The other one." Jasper shook his head at Bella. "I already know _she's_ going to stay…"

Bella was whispering to Esme now, her face close to her ear. Jasper watched her with a bright intensity that reminded Edward wholly of a puppy who knew and loved its master as it had known and loved its mother. His eyes were alight with a joy that Edward rarely saw, and a pride that was new and strangely mature for his thirteen years. Edward knew, just from the look of him, that he was holding back a great and overbearing instinct to pounce on Bella himself, to take her from their aunt in a giddy riot of love, but the fact that he withheld was a mercy unto itself. He appreciated Jasper as he was now, as tall as a soldier and with a budding patience to match, and he saw, if only for a minute, the kind of man he might grow up to be.

Edward felt a vibrant flare of affection for the boy and he clapped his hand on his shoulder, barely resisting the urge to kiss him, which would have surely embarrassed him silly.

"Yes, Jasper." The boy glanced back at him, tearing his eyes away from the bed. "The woman is going to stay."

"Is it true, what they say about her?"

"I don't know." Carlisle watched them with interest. "What is it that they're saying?"

The thought of rumour made Edward nervous, and he prayed that word had not gotten out about who the woman really was. The laws of the land were clear and vetted, but he doubted that the integration of a foreigner would go so smoothly if the people knew who she was, and where she had come from.

"That she saved Bella," said Jasper quickly. "That she rescued the Lady from the clutches of evil."

"True," said Edward at once. Esme was peering over Bella's wounds now, her face serious and grim as she examined her wrist. "Absolutely true."

Jasper looked impressed.

"Is it true that she stabbed that man in the jungle?" His voice was alight with a macabre vivacity that belied the repulsiveness of the whole ordeal. "I heard Emmett say that she ran him through with a sword."

"Not a sword, but yes," sighed Edward. "She did kill him."

"Is she going to be punished?"

Edward's head snapped down at once.

"No," he said sternly. "No, she won't be punished. Not for that."

Jasper's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Not at all?" he pressed. "Not even a _little?"_

"Not even a little," vowed Edward. "She acted in self-defence."

"So _she_ says…"

"So Bella says too," he replied at once. "I trust Rosalie, Jasper, and believe she tells me the truth, but beyond that, I trust _Bella."_

Jasper fell silent, bashful, but full of curious questions.

"Is it true that he…" He glanced at Bella carefully from the corner of his eye, and he frowned when he saw Esme's fingers at her throat. The pink stain on the bandage had grown again, and Esme's face was awash with worry as she waved her husband over. Carlisle went at once, taking time to embrace his patient before he reached for the knot, gently unravelling the bandage at her neck.

When the wound was revealed, even more red and inflamed when Esme pulled back the curtains at the window to give the healer light to work by, Jasper's sharp inhale was angry and sore.

"Did _he_ do that?" he demanded lowly, rounding on Edward with hot accusation. "Did that… that _man,_ do that?"

"Yes." His brother's shoulders sagged. "Yes, Jasper…"

"Is it dangerous?" Carlisle's face was red with anger as he tilted her chin to the left and right, looking seriously at the wound in every light. He pressed around its edges, making Bella wince, and Edward felt a pang of sympathy deep in his belly. Carlisle heard him and turned, shaking his head.

"It's a fine wound, to be sure," he said angrily, "but not so deep as it might be..."

"He didn't kill her as he'd intended," said Edward quickly, turning Jasper away. "But his blade dug deep enough to leave a mark."

"A mark indeed…"

"So you'll understand," said Edward, "why I won't punish the newcomer for her violence."

Jasper said nothing, his gaze fixed steadfastly on the woman in the bed.

"What time is your Council meeting?" asked Jasper.

"We meet for the evening meal," sighed Edward. "I've no idea what time it is. An hour past noon? Two?"

Jasper eyed him, surprised.

"Try four," he said quickly. "Supper will be in less than two hours."

Already Edward felt the weariness in his bones. Jasper, keen-eyed and quick, caught his brother's reluctance at once.

"Do you anticipate resistance?" he asked quietly. "From the Council?"

"I've no idea," Edward admitted. "There are no grounds for it."

"That won't stop them," said Jasper wisely. "I may not know much about the governance of this island, but I do know that when you put thirteen hot-tempered men together in one room and demand a consensus, you will sow nothing but discord."

"Wise words," laughed Edward. His brother's face broke into a chagrined smile. "And you're quite right."

Carlisle began unwrapping Bella's feet, and Edward turned away.

"It will not be easy to convince the Council of her place," sighed Edward. "Even with all our vows of peace and harmony."

"Is it true," Jasper hedged, "about her name?"

Edward looked askance.

"The soldiers talk, Edward," he said softly. "The stories are already flying between them…"

Edward tittered angrily.

"They say she is a fine Lady," said Jasper, "of the Western camp. They say that she is highborn…"

"True," sighed Edward wearily.

"They say…" He hedged. "They say…"

"What do they say?" asked Edward, low and urgent. "Tell me, Jasper. It might be important."

His brother rocked again, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"They say that she is a wife," said Jasper slowly. "That she is _the_ wife."

" _The_ wife?"

"The wife of the enemy," said Jasper at once. "The Wife of the West. They say that she is married to the very soul of the resistance, and that her son—the boy she brought with her—is the heir to the whole Western stronghold."

Edward groaned, his face in his hands.

 _What a goddamned nightmare._

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience. As those of you who follow my Twitter page already know, I had a family emergency that required immediate and unexpected travel on Monday morning. We were gone until the middle of the week, and the rest has been pure chaos. Thanks for all your patience and support. For those of you looking for updates on my writing progress and when you might expect new chapters, you can follow me at Moonchild_707. There is a direct link in my bio.**

 **As some of you also know, I am now a working substitute teacher. I took the summer off once school let out and I've had plenty of time for writing, but now that classes are starting back up again, I might have to adjust my update schedule a little bit. I know you've grown used to a chapter every day or two, but once I start getting calls for work, I'm going to have to slow down. My goal is at LEAST one chapter per week, but we'll have to play it by ear.**

 **Someone asked me in a PM just how long this story is going to be. At this time, I don't have even a rough estimate, as my plan is constantly shifting and changing. We're going to have to speed it up a little bit before I end up running this story into the next century, but as it stands, there is still plenty of stuff left to be said. I've had an endgame in sight for this story since the very beginning, and the more I work on it the more fleshed out it becomes. Right now, my best guess is that we're approximately 1/3 of the way through, though I can't be 100% sure.**

 **There has also been some interest about why my characters have been giving me so much trouble lately. This chapter, like the one before, was an absolute NIGHTMARE to write (so much so that I couldn't even enjoy the process, which is extremely rare for me). Even almost a week out, I'm still not happy with where and how it ended off. Like last time, I've got 20+ pages (6,000+ words) of tossed content from this chapter. I'm trying to strike a balance between advancing the plot to keep the story moving, while also developing the characters in a semi-believable, well-paced way. I don't want to bombard you with romance out of left field without setting it up beforehand, which has always been a struggle for someone like me, who has no real experience with or even an INTEREST in any romantic relationships of my own. I'm completely out of my element with building affection between characters, and this particular piece of writing is one of the ways I'm choosing to challenge myself. Sometimes that challenge drives me crazy and makes it hard to get anything written at all.**

 **Another challenge with these chapters is the overwhelming and heartwarming interest you all seem to have about every single detail of life on this island. So many of you want to see everything (every moment, every reunion, every whisper, every peep) which makes it challenging for the author to fulfill those wishes while at the same time advancing the story. To ease this, I'm considering creating an outtakes story to run alongside the main one, so that when I get a ton of requests for more Island content, I can post it up there for those who want to read it without compromising the integrity of the story for those who don't. I haven't decided one way or another, but it is an option I'm considering.**

 **Thanks for all the support you give, even when life gets in my way!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Bella sat curled atop the window seat, her feet tucked up against her thighs as she gazed through the open window, her face upturned towards the towering mountain range in the West. The room was as quiet as a grave. Her idle fingers traced patterns on the etched lead glass of the window, tracing up and down the crystalline facets as she watched the passage of the moon in the night, waiting for the moment when it would dip down and kiss the summit of the tallest peak.

Stars shone like glitter strewn in great piles and swirls on the inky canvas of the sky. The band of the milky way was bright, tracing a long, white trail like a belt across the heavens, stretching from the invisible sea in the south to the edge of the rocks in the north. Its stars flashed like diamonds suspended in the air and she breathed a great sigh of wonder, her gaze fixed on its brilliant stillness. The night was as wondrous as it had been in Esme's garden the night before the Cleansing, and it marvelled her now, just as it had then.

The heavens made her feel small and she revelled in it. The stars did not care about her insignificant worries. They did not concern themselves with the business of Earth. They were not caught up in the fishbowls of men, nor did they move when a small mortal on a distant, tiny planet sent out a silent prayer of love and thanks. Bella's missives ran a loop in her brain, her thoughts vanishing like smoke into the great span of the cosmos in the same instant they'd arrived, but they continued nonetheless, leaching out like water from an overfilled tub.

She felt bathed by the starlight that glowed upon her face in pale, eerie blue. The open sky was cleansing, as if by the sheer force of its light she was purged of all her worries and fears. She sat in quiet contemplation, taking a moment to return herself to a state of rest where her mind was free and her conscience, clear _._ Though the air was warm and balmy with a gentle breeze from the south, Bella thought that if she was still and calm enough, that she could feel the starlight's icy cold on the apples of her cheeks, dusting like snowflakes across her nose and her chin. Bella loved the sky, especially at night, and its silence and mystery was like a salve, soothing her and lulling her into placid, easy rest.

She raked her eyes over the multitude of stars to seek out the Big Dipper, which hung just above the mountains in the skies to the north, its great ladle hovering as if to steal a scoop of stone. It was fixed in her mind's eye, as familiar as her own self, and she let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling for the first time in a long while like the world was finally still. She could breathe here, strange though it was, and she was struck by a sudden appreciation for the restoration of peace in her little world. The day would bring chaos—she knew it as well as anything—but for a moment suspended in time, with neither fear nor fancy to disturb her, Bella felt a serenity that she had not felt at all since her arrival on the island.

How wonderful it was to find herself in such a place as this, warm and safe in a King's room, surrounded only by kindness and care.

The stars twinkled lovingly from their great, black seats and she felt her muscles ease, her head resting on the very edge of the long, steely window frame. Her fingers reached out into the night, feeling the rising mist that would bring the morning dew, and she held it there until it cramped.

The great spoon remained suspended in the sky like a memory, and she recalled with a nostalgic fondness how often she had gazed upon it in her early days.

Bella had always been an avid astronomer. From the time she was very small—just a girl at her mother's knee—Bella had admired the stars in all their celestial glory, feeling undiminished wonder at their purpose and the magnitude of their imposing presence in the sky. She'd studied them closely—had read shelves of books and spent countless nights sprawled on the lawn in the tiny back garden of the tenement house where she and her mother had stayed. A clear sky had been a treat and Renee had often been so distracted that she hadn't noticed when Bella spent the night outside, falling asleep beneath the towering spruce in the yard and waking with the sun when it shone beyond the fence.

Bella wondered if her mother could see her now, wherever she was, and whether she had any care at all for what had become of her child.

Bella's mother had always been a sensitive subject and even here, in the solitude and silence of the dark bedchamber, she was not immune to its sting. Bella had loved her mother. She had cared for her, fought for her, and prayed so hard for her safe passage through the perils of her own mind that her efforts had come to nothing, and she had lost all respect for the God her mother had loved. Renee had spent her final days in an agony of supplication, begging on her knees for mercy and forgiveness from an obstinate deity who would not answer, and when the end had finally come, Bella knew that it had all been for naught.

She remembered her mother like a child remembers its ghosts. She remembered the softness of her face, the gentle way her eyes lit up when she laughed and smiled. She remembered her hands, soft and gentle when they combed through her hair before bed, and the way her lips had felt when she kissed her, always on the cheek, and tucked her tight beneath her covers, whispering blessings and wishes to her daughter's tender ears.

She wondered if her mother was there, a twinkling pinprick in that band of glittering stars. Bella hoped she was… she hoped that wherever Renee had gone, whatever she knew and saw, that she had finally found her rest. She hoped that her mother knew that she loved her, that she missed her fiercely, and that she had found peace, or some semblance of it, in this strange and otherworldly place where she was surrounded by people who loved her.

Her uncle, too, liked to think of her mother that way. Charlie had told her so in the morgue, when he'd seen the bloodied face beneath a stained, white sheet. He'd told her when he'd picked her up from the police station, collecting his trembling, terrified little niece from the clutches of the social worker, the image of her dead mother etched forever in the forefront of her memory. _She was not a corpse_ , Charlie had told her. She was not that body, which would rot, and fester, and decay. She was _light,_ he'd said… she was a star. She had transcended life to find better and higher things, just as Bella's daddy had, and just as they all would, in the end, when that specter came to claim them.

The thought of Charlie brought Bella crashing back to the world in a cloud of fire and smoke, and she felt a stitch in her chest that had nothing to do with the healing bruises on her ribs.

She missed her uncle with an unspeakable ferocity that made her cheeks run hot and her throat feel tight. She thought of his smile—of his excitement and his joy when he'd seen her off at the airport in Seattle, his face pressed against the glass with a splitting smile. He was proud of her, he'd said. He was awed by the woman she'd become.

" _You're so like your mama, Bells, you don't even know."_ The words rang so clearly in her memory that he might as well have been standing there before her, smelling of coffee and toast. _"She would be so proud of you, kid. I know I am."_

She hadn't even cried when she'd waved him goodbye.

What would he be doing now, she wondered, while the night grew long and dark? Would he be at rest, snoring on his pillow in the early grips of sleep? Would he be awake, perhaps, at the dining table with a book, or seated before the television watching baseball on the screen? The nights would have grown cold by now. Winter was fast approaching. There would be Thanksgiving to prepare, and Christmas after that. _Who would cook for him,_ she wondered, _and who would join his table?_ She thought of him alone and it made her tender heart ache, and she hung her head, drawing in deep, careful breaths to stave off her tears.

She wondered if he, too, looked up at those same stars and thought of _her_ , just as she did of him. Did he see her there, alongside her mother in an imagined death she couldn't know? Did he speak to her, his words lost in the great chasm of time and space between them? Somehow, she hoped he did. She hoped that he'd hold on, that he'd _feel_ her living in the wind and the rain, and that it gave him peace to think that she was well, even if he would never lay eyes on her again.

His face materialized in an instant and she smiled despite her sorrow.

"I love you," she whispered, her words carried on the breeze. "I love you, and I miss you, and I hope that you'll be happy."

That part of her that held him melted into mist and she felt it seep into the marrow of her bones, settling like concrete to become one with the very fabric of her being. She would carry him with her always in a little facet of her heart, glowing fiercely knowing that she was safe, and cared for, and loved.

Sometime later, the door creaked open in the dead of night and Bella, lost to the world in a realm of dreams, remained curled by the window with her head against the glass. She did not hear the footsteps, slowly padding towards her resting place, and she did not see the smile—exhausted, yet triumphant—that spread across his face like a scarlet badge of victory. She did not know the hour—only that it was late and not yet light—and she succumbed most willingly to her tantalizing drowsiness, letting her head loll against his hand when he pressed it to her cheek.

"It is done, sweetheart." She felt his arms slip beneath her, pulling her up from her seat near the stars. "It is all done. Your friend is safe, and her home secured."

His shirt held a fragrant spice like sweet cinnamon and cloves and she breathed in the smell of him with relish. She did not hear him chuckle at her when she turned her face towards him, but she felt the gentle rumble beneath her cheek. He lifted her, his wounded arm trembling beneath her weight, but he did not falter as he turned towards the bed where the blankets were pulled down and the pillows soft and warm.

"Come to bed, Bella. Your legs are cold as ice."

He laid her on the sheets. She shivered when he left her, his warmth gone in an instant when he put her down and she stirred, feeble and weak, before he shushed her.

"Easy, sweetheart." The blankets rose to her chin and she felt the bed dip down next to her. "Don't fret… all is well."

He settled down beside her, his head upon her pillow, and she felt sleep rise up like fog, pulling her back to that elusive land of dreams.

In the moments before she drifted she rested her cheek upon his chest. Like a balm to her weary, tired soul, she felt the warmth of him in her heart, the icy chill of grief melting to a pool of molten honey.

* * *

In the center of a valley, down a narrow, winding slope, ran a quiet river that wound in lazy, sweeping curves. It flowed like a serpent, slithering through long, untamed grass, carving a great, watery wound in the very surface of the earth to expose the rocks and dirt beneath. Its current was as blue as the clear sky above—a wondrous and vibrant azure that looked like liquid turquoise as it bubbled, its foam and froth a mirror image of the great clouds that drifted lazily overhead. Dancing fish, slender and fleeting, dipped in and out of the rush, their flashing fins catching the bright sunlight like jewels beneath the ripples. Near the banks, where the current was at its weakest, ducks had made their quiet homes, mothers and fathers guiding their young on fledgling treks into the water.

In the east, the river ran calmly. It babbled merrily—a laughing gurgle that promised tranquility, merriment, and safety, and as Bella walked slowly across the wide, well-trodden road that led towards the Eastern walls of the city, she could plainly see how valuable it was.

They walked between a procession of guards. Emmett, high upon his steed at the head of the party, rode slowly out before them, his keen eye trained for any possible dangers, rare though they might be. He watched the little, painted houses, peered anxiously through their small, glassless windows, and was received with a warmth and charity that Bella found rather odd. The people knew him here, that much was evident, and they seemed to neither mind nor despise his apparent interference. They waved merrily at him through those windows, shouting greetings and blessings that he accepted with grace. Men stopped him with cheerful questions, bowing deeply to their King when they caught sight of him at the rear, and offered him such a bounty of carrots and apples for his haughty, head-tossing horse that Bella thought that on the whole, the mean creature was spoiled absolutely rotten. It was no wonder he was so stubborn and arrogant—celebrity, she knew, was a great precursor to pride, and Bella wondered if she would ever despise a beast as much as she did Emmett's chestnut horse.

"Do your feet ache, Bella?" Edward asked. Her arm was hooked politely about his elbow and he redoubled his grip on her. She shrugged her shoulders in vague response, glancing down at her feet, which had been wrapped in moleskin and laced into new leather boots. They were very fine, she knew, and _very_ expensive, but she had not complained when she felt their sturdiness, and would not start now.

"Not so much." The blisters, which had been wrapped and salved for nigh on three days, had hardened into tough, unsightly callouses. They were still tender, especially when she took an awkward step or fumble, but on the whole, she thought them well.

"I'm glad," Edward replied. "The boots are comfortable?"

"Very." _That_ , at least, she could say with honesty. "Thank you."

"Are you very hot?"

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"No." She chuckled at his concern. "I'm quite well. Thank you."

He turned from her, his cheeks tinged pink, and they continued on.

Bella had never been in the eastern district of the capital before. Her travels in the city proper had been somewhat hasty, and though she had been possessed by a gnawing curiosity to explore the lands and grounds interred within their walls of red stone, the opportunity had never presented itself to her. She had been sick, at first—so sick after her arrival on the island and her convalescence in the blue rooms that she'd had neither the gumption nor the strength to venture far from her bed. That first journey with Jasper—the short excursion to the doghouse on the far edge of the castle grounds—had been almost enough to do her in. She'd seen the main thoroughfare through the center of town, called Market Street by the locals, and had been privy to the bustle and humdrum of a particularly active market day on her journey to the Healer's Hut. She'd seen the northeastern walls from her tower windows, the Western expanse from Edward's, and had laid her tired eyes upon the Western village proper only once, and under great duress, when Emmett had led her through the city streets in almost complete darkness, their path lit sporadically by lit sconces on high-walled homes and shops.

The East, Bella thought, was particularly striking.

Throughout her talks and discussions with Edward, Bella had discerned that the Eastern half of the city was among the poorest of the Maronese districts. Led by Lorenzo, the people who lived here were governed by a pervasive lack of opportunity and a population that was, by all accounts, growing beyond capacity. Bella saw evidence of this everywhere she looked. Homes, while bright and jolly, were crowded together in tight-packed rows with yards the size of postage stamps. There was no grass in those yards, which were instead covered by small fruit and vegetable gardens full to bursting, their ripened, bulbous bounty making stalks bow their heads beneath the weight. The façade of each dwelling was a different colour—splashes of yellow and green, or red and orange, and sometimes, standing out like a gem amongst the rocks, a vivid pink or violet, all of which were a stark contrast to the others. From the edges of each small house ran a low fence about knee-high, which Edward told her were there only to demarcate one's own garden from a neighbours, thus settling any disputes as to which fruits belonged to who.

The houses near the river seemed plentiful and lively. They were low to the ground with just one story, much as the buildings along Market Street were, and each seemed to hold a multitude of family members ranging from the very old to the newly born. As they moved along at their leisurely pace down the road, Bella was enraptured by the sight of them, peeking through windows and rushing out in droves to catch a glimpse of the King. Elderly matrons, as old as Bella's own great-grandmother, came limping from porches and doorways, leaning on walking sticks or the arms of sons and daughters. Mothers, with children settled on hips and clinging to hands and skirts, curtsied and bowed as they went. Children scampered to and fro—some almost grown, and others but newly walking—to bow to their sovereign before they took off at a frantic pace towards the muddy riverbanks, wading knee-deep in the current to look for stones. Fathers and husbands stopped at their work when the King passed—Bella saw a blacksmith at the forge, a cobbler hammering leather, a butcher, a baker, a herder, and a shopkeeper, all pause, and stare, and bow, peering out curiously from their windows when the King, unbothered and unmoved by their surprise and delight, moved steadily through the crowded streets.

The people here were friendly—Bella saw it plainly—and it gave her hope that Rosalie would find a good home here.

"Do we still have far to go?" asked Bella gently, jolting the King from his thoughtful silence. He glanced at her with mild surprise.

"Not far by horse," he began, "but some distance by foot. If you are tired, we can stop for a while."

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not tired."

She was _eager._

It had been three days since Rosalie, with her son and bags in tow, had commenced her exodus from the castle proper to venture into the great unknown of the eastern district of the city. Bella had sent her off with happy tears and kisses, promising thrice over to visit just as soon as she was able, and she had felt a queer mix of gladness and sorrow as she watched her friend go, side-by-side with Emmett at the head of her party, to travel over roads and fields unknown to a new and foreign home.

"Emmett says she is very well." Edward interrupted her thoughts. "He's spent the better part of three days getting her settled, and he says she is fitting in well."

"Do they know?" asked Bella nervously. "Who she is?"

"Only Lorenzo and the castle guards," he soothed at once. "We thought it best to leave that part out of common knowledge."

"What do they say about her, then?" Bella wondered nervously. "Who do they think she is?"

"A nobody from nowhere," he replied. "Lorenzo has kindly and generously planted the seed of rumour in the local tavern. He let slip that she was a widow from the Hollow Lands—one of those unlucky people displaced by the violence of last summer—and that she has appealed to the King for sanctuary in the city, for the safety of her son and person cannot possibly be secured so close to the Western stronghold."

"A clever ruse," she admitted. "Do they believe it?"

"They've no reason not to," he reasoned. "She plays the part well enough."

"And Finn?"

"Is none the wiser," said Edward gently. "He will soon forget, I think, the horrors of the West. Children heal quickly, and he is still very young. This might be the only home he'll ever know, if all goes to plan."

That warmed her and she leaned in closer, squeezing her hand around his arm.

"And what of you?" she asked. "What excuse did Lorenzo give for _your_ appearance here?"

"I am the King." He spoke with mock bravado and she scowled at him, earning her a chuckle. "I often patrol the city, to check my tenants and ensure their comfort."

"Yes…" The word drawled slowly. "But what will they say when you show up _there,_ at _Rosalie's_ house?"

"I've no intention of overstaying my leave," he said at once. "I serve only as My Lady's escort."

She flushed pink and Edward, grinning foolishly at the sight, showed her a small mercy.

"I will leave you at her gate," he said gently, soothing her embarrassment. "Emmett and I will travel to the Eastern walls to check the fortifications there. There has been some word of failing infrastructure, and it is my business to see if repairs are required."

"Oh." Her stomach eased at once. "That's…"

"We will collect you upon our return, if that would suit?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "I expect to be some hours at least. If you wish to return early, you may simply ask the guard outside to bring you home."

"I will stay," she said at once. "I want to make sure she is settled."

"Indeed you do," sighed Edward. "Indeed you do…"

They fell into a companionable silence once more for a long stretch, walking slowly and methodically down the wide, dirt road. Bella thought the East a lovely place—how merry and jovial it seemed to her, especially after the austerity and grandeur of the great, stone castle. To be sure, she found the castle pleasant and comfortable, but there was a _light_ here, a kind of _life_ that she did not find within the confines of the great, kingly palace. She heard laughter here, great, booming peals and high, tinkling giggles, and the sound of children at their games, shouting and hollering. She saw a crowd of boys, all younger than twelve, chasing a hoop made of wood with long, nimble sticks, tossing it to and fro in the dirt with yells like wild things. It made her glad to see it—to hear the laughter of children was, Bella thought, one of the highest pleasures one could find in life. It gave her hope to hear it—gave her a comfortable sense of normalcy and belonging that she had not found anywhere else, and it made her all the gladder when Edward smiled too, indulgent in their games.

"You like children?" he asked, watching her as her head craned around to see the boys, now just dust in the distance. She snapped around at once. "You look happy, Bella."

"I do, and I am," she returned at once. "I worked with children my whole life before I came here, and it cheers me to see them at play."

"Did you, now?" Edward peered interestedly at her, his face alight with a new curiosity. "I did not know that."

She blushed, glancing at the ground.

"I did a great many things before I came here," she murmured. "Most of which I've told no one."

"Will you tell _me?"_ He tugged her closer, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. "I'd like to know about you, Bella. You've been so overwhelmed by our lifestyle and our ways that I wonder where it is you might have come from, and how we can be so very different from your own people."

She blinked up at him, surprised.

"If you want to know," she said, "I'd be happy to tell you."

"I do," he insisted. "Is it a very long tale?"

"Not particularly," she shrugged. "Ordinary enough, I suppose."

"I doubt it greatly." He shook his head. "I doubt it _very_ greatly…"

"Well, then let us have it," she challenged. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me of your people," he said. "Tell me of your parents."

"I never knew my father," said Bella softly, "so I cannot tell you much of him. He was a good man, or so my mother said, though he had his demons."

"Demons?" Edward looked astonished. "What…?"

Bella, suddenly jolted, giggled when his confusion settled over him like a quilt, the figure of speech evidently lost in translation.

"He struggled with himself," she clarified. "He struggled with… abuse."

"He struck you?" demanded Edward in a sudden temper. "Did he _hurt_ you?"

"No, no." She shook her head vehemently. "No, he never struck anyone."

Edward waited in confused and anxious silence.

"He abused… things," she hedged. "Substances."

"Drink?" guessed Edward sagely, and the fury melted from him like frost on a glass. "He drank, then?"

"Among other things," Bella said. "I've never been told the full story, though I've pieced together bits of it over the years. He was dead before I was born, so I never knew or saw him."

"I'm sorry," Edward said contritely. "You need not tell me, if it is painful for you…"

"It's not," Bella sighed. "It's just an old story now. It's been almost twenty five years, and its hurts were never mine."

"Whose were they, then?" he asked softly. "The pain of loss for any parent belongs to the children, I should think…"

"My mother," Bella said at once. She felt her face go hard and she knew the King had seen it, too, for he asked no questions and offered only silence, looking both morbidly curious and terribly, achingly sad.

"Is she gone, too?" he hedged. "Your mother?"

"Yes." Bella nodded curtly. "But I _did_ know her…"

"There is a story here that I dare not ask," said Edward softly. "So do not tell it now. Tell me what happened after."

Bella swallowed back her sudden sadness and breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of wild mint and honeysuckle from the banks of the gurgling river.

"I was eight," she continued, "when I lost my mother. I went to live with my Uncle instead."

"A kind man?"

"Very." Bella smiled wistfully. "A _good_ man. He's my mother's brother."

"What did you call him?"

"Charlie," said Bella at once. "He's a… _police officer."_

He frowned at the English, looking askance.

"A kind of… protector," she said. "He serves the people."

"Serves in what way?"

"If there is danger or crime, he responds," said Bella. "They call for him and he comes, and sometimes subdues the threat. We lived in a very small town, however, and so there was very little danger to be had."

"I see." Edward glanced at the soldiers ahead of them with speculation. "Is he armed?"

"Yes," she chuckled, "but not with swords or arrows. We have… other weapons."

"Others?"

" _A gun,"_ she said softly. He repeated the word back to her in an atrocious accent that made her laugh. "It's a kind of… projectile."

"It is for throwing?" he queried. "Like a mace, perhaps?"

"No, not at all like a mace," Bella said. "You… shoot with it."

"Like an arrow."

"Sort of."

Still confused and slightly misgiving, Bella was grateful when the King moved on.

"How was life with your uncle?"

"Wonderful," she said honestly. "Charlie was always good to me, even when I was very little, and he has no children of his own. He treated me like his daughter, and we grew quite used to one another after a while."

"I am glad that he was kind," said Edward. "It makes me very angry to hear of children mistreated at the hands of those who are supposed to love them."

Bella thought at once of Finn, but drove the thought away as she continued her tale.

"I went to school," she continued, "and then to… _college._ Where we go to learn a trade."

"A trade?" He laughed outright, startled and amazed. "A woman, learning trades?"

Bella bristled at his astonishment but it was transformed in an instant, his face so abjectly surprised by this pronouncement that she was stricken with a kind of irritated pity.

"Don't look so shocked," she groused. "Where I'm from, there is not so much distinction between the sexes as there seems to be here."

"Evidently not." His laughter died away. "But tell me, Lady… what trade did you learn, if any at all?"

"Not a traditional trade as you might think it," she said. "I studied books, and the history of my people."

"Indeed?" He seemed fascinated. "And what things did you learn there?"

"Too much to relay to you now, and too little to do it any justice at all," she laughed at once. "My point is that _after_ I did that, I went back to become a teacher."

"A teacher of what?" he glanced around at the shops and houses still lining the road.

"Children," she said gently. "I was trained to teach children their letters and sums, and science, and history, and books…"

"A Master, then," he finished quietly. "Or _Mistress,_ in your case… It is rare to find such creatures here."

"Teachers?" Bella queried.

" _Female_ teachers," he corrected. "There are plenty of men who teach, but women, by far, choose other paths."

Bella bristled again.

"Do you not trust a woman teacher?" she demanded, and the hint of anger that coloured her tone was picked up at once by those keen and well-tuned ears. He shook his head with confidence, patting her soothingly on the hand.

"I haven't said that and nor will I," he breezed. "I merely point out that it is not _common_ in such a place as this. Especially not in the city."

"Why?"

"Women choose other paths," he repeated. "Many marry young and instead become mothers."

"A woman can do _both…"_

"Indeed she can," he agreed amiably. "Remember that I said as much about your friend Rosalie."

Bella held her tongue.

"I do not _disparage_ you, Bella," he said finally, catching the drift of her displeasure. "I merely wonder at the _thought_ of it. I applaud you for your aptitudes, as I would applaud any woman in the realm should she choose a similar path."

"Do girls go to school here?" she asked quietly, a sudden flash of remembrance hitting her like a brick. She recalled little Alice—the maid who had been hired to tend her in those early days of her recovery—sitting from sunrise to sunset by Bella's bedside. She had wondered then, too, why the child was not in school, and what kind of a place this was to allow such a child to work, without ever being taught.

"If their parents think it best, then yes," said Edward honestly. "Girls and boys alike are welcome in all establishments, so long as their parents consent."

"And _do_ their parents consent?" she challenged with a bright eye. "Because when I was first arrived here…"

He waited patiently, saying nothing.

"The girl, Alice," Bella insisted. _"She_ was not in school."

"No, she wasn't," said Edward. "The orphanage employs tutors for the smaller children, so that they may learn to read and write and count. But their services are limited for the older fry, whose needs far surpass what those Masters can give them."

"That's not right." Bella shook her head, her lips pursed. "They need more than simple _literacy…"_

"I'm sorry, Bella." Edward shook his head. "Do not agitate yourself so. As I've told you before, there are many things in my Kingdom that are far from ideal, but we do our best to rectify what we can."

"This seems something easily remedied," she countered. "Why can another master not be sought?"

"There are none to be had," said Edward simply. "Those whose skills are specialized for older children are employed by private families with children of their own. Those masters are given room and board, as well as a handsome salary to teach such a group. The orphanage, while satisfactory, is poor, and all the money we send goes directly to clothing and feeding the growing group. Before, perhaps, it might have been possible to hire another master, but after the violence of last summer's raids they have become overcrowded, and their priorities have changed."

Bella fell humbly silent, working over these facts in her head. Edward seemed bothered by her silence, eying her nervously before he spoke again, asking another hedging question.

"Did you teach much, before you arrived here?" he queried. "Did you have many pupils?"

"Not at all." She shook herself from her daydreams. "Not even one."

He frowned at her.

"I was in-route, as you might say, to my teaching post when that plane crashed in the sea." He stared at her, unspeaking. "I had been hired in a place far from my home, and was travelling there to take up my work when we fell."

"I am sorry."

"No need." She tossed her head back and sighed. "It's all been done now, and there's nothing else for it."

"Are you still sad, Bella?" he asked after a pause. "Do you miss what you've left behind?"

She snapped around to him with a quiet surveillance, the question settling deep in her heart.

"I miss my family," she said slowly, "most especially my Uncle."

"As you should…"

"He doesn't know I'm here," she continued. "He has no idea that I'm even _alive._ I'm sure the officials have determined that the entire plane was lost, and so he mourns me as if I were dead."

This fact seemed to trouble him, though he said nothing.

"I miss my dog." Boomer's gray muzzle flashed in her mind's eye with poignant yearning. "And I miss my friends." She thought of Jake on that damned roller coaster at Six Flags, and his taunting, teasing jeers when she'd screamed before the drop.

"I'm sorry…"

She flashed up to him, her eyes brimming with a quiet solemnity that gave him pause. He watched her for a moment, halting in his walk down the road before he sighed, seeming to cave in on himself as if she'd dealt him a blow.

"What is it?" he asked sadly. "Don't be afraid to tell me…"

"I'm not afraid," she said gently, with a quiet courage that made her feel strong. "I'm _not_ afraid, and that's just the thing."

"What thing is that?"

"I _was_ afraid," she said quietly. "I was _terrified,_ Edward, when I first arrived here. I knew no one. I understood nothing. I had no friends, no home, no _family,_ and I was completely and utterly lost."

"I see…"

"Do you?" She squeezed his hands with renewed vigour. "Do you, really? Because what I see is _not_ a sadness, Edward, but _hope."_

"Hope?"

"Yes." She pulled him forward, and they continued down the lane. "Hope, and promise, and _freedom."_

"Freedom," Edward repeated. "Freedom from what?"

" _Freedom is what you do with what has been done to you,"_ she quoted. "A wise man from my world said that long ago, and it strikes me now as true. Though I _miss_ my home, I do not _pine_ for it as I once did. I will _always_ miss it and it will always be a part of me, but I think," she felt her cheeks grow hot once more, "that I have begun to find my peace here, among people I've come to think of as true friends."

The smile that lit his face was sad, but fuelled by a radiant, glowing pride that seemed to emanate from every pore and line of his face. He watched her with a rapturous fulfillment that made her heart stutter and race, but before he could so much as utter a reply to this sudden and truthful speech, she was pulling him along down the road, his hand clasped tightly between her fingers.

* * *

Rosalie's house was brilliant—a sparkling coral gem among a bower of leafy garden vegetables, a towering, laden fruit tree, and a flower bed, all abundant with a wild array of violets and honeysuckle, growing tall and disorderly beyond the low borders of the small garden fence. It stood at the very end of a long and winding lane—a branch off of the main road that led straight to the eastern walls—and it lay low along the landscape, silhouetted against a great and towering palm tree that rose like a pillar from the earth in the small back yard. On account of this tree, which waved merrily in the breeze, the locals called the place Coconut Cottage, and a sign bearing this moniker was pounded crookedly into the dirt along the path to the door, black lettering stamped clearly on smooth, white wood.

Bella found herself amazed at the tranquil cheerfulness of this little space. The pink exterior, framed by white trim and sills, was the very image of gaiety and womanhood. The narrow path to the door, paved in large, uneven stones of varying colours and sizes, was inviting. The door was solid wood, deeply set into stuccoed walls, and the roof, where thatch once rested, had been shingled with white-painted tile, sculpted and formed from the clay beds along the river. They glistened in the sun, reflecting back the blazing heat of the early afternoon, and though Bella stood with wonder, staring up at the quaint, friendly abode, her friend came out in a flurry to meet her at the gate.

"Bella!" Rosalie flew from the house in a flutter of skirts and yellow hair. She rushed down the path in a hurry. "Bella, you've come!"

"Rose!"

The two women embraced, each squeezing the other with equal vim and vigour. The joy of reunion was sweet as sugar—Bella relished the feel of her friend, so strong and so happy, and the swell of her belly pressed against Bella's was a balm to the worry that had been brewing so thickly in her heart. They laughed together, each kissing the other's cheek with vehement pleasure, and when Rose took Bella by the hand to pull her towards the door, they each wore smiles from ear to ear.

"The journey is not so long as I feared," said Rose with a laugh. She ushered Bella inside. "When Emmett brought me here, I feared I might be hours and hours from the castle."

"Not so far indeed," Bella laughed. She stepped into the small entrance with great curiosity. "And what a fine little place they've gifted you."

"You've no idea." Rose's seriousness was sudden and clear, and though she skillfully unburdened Bella of her hat and her scarf, her eyes were bright with sudden emotion. "You've no idea, Bella, how much this means to me."

"I think I might have an inkling," she said kindly. "But come. Show me what you've done with it!"

Rosalie smiled swiftly and nodded, taking Bella by the hand to lead her further into the house.

As Bella had suspected, the place was small, though not mean or scanty. There was a sitting room, small and cozy enough for a small party to gather, with a stone hearth at the rear and a wide, shuttered window at the front. Seats had been set out—a plush and cushioned sofa with a knitted afghan folded at one end, and two cushioned armchairs, both angled towards the fire with a table in between. The floors were made of cool, grey stone, sanded and buffed smooth and seamless, and Rosalie had placed a rug before the couch to soften the chill on bare feet—a plump and crimson thing with a design of white doves sewn throughout. The walls—the same clay as Bella had seen outside, had been painted white, making the space seem almost glowing when the sun reflected in, though the effect was lovely rather than bothersome.

"A parlour," said Rosalie proudly, gesturing about herself with her free hand. "The hearth is warm, especially in the evenings, and the shutters are easily bolted. You can see the garden if you sit near the window, and if I can manage to find myself some parchment or a board, I will paint a picture to accompany that strange and rather gaudy rug."

Bella laughed when Rose frowned at it, though she said nothing more in complaint.

The kitchen, too, was small. A stove at the rear was fuelled by wood—a stack of which Bella could see in the small back yard beneath an awning of grey-brown canvas propped on sticks. There were three cupboards mounted on the wall—one for plates, as Rosalie showed her, and the others for preserves and linens, like cloths and towels. An old and sturdy washtub rested on the farthest wall, sandwiched between a line of hanging copper pots and a handy metal skillet, glinting like silver in the shining sun from the small window. In here, unlike the painted parlour, the clay walls had been left in their natural orange-brown and a smoke stain, black and sooty, blemished the wall behind the stove.

The three bedrooms were less marvellous than the rest. The largest, which Rosalie had claimed for her own, held a clean, wide bed, a dressing table with a tiny, tarnished glass, a ewer of water for washing, and a chest, in which all of Rosalie's new dresses and skirts were folded. As a ward of the King, she had been granted all her basic necessities without cost or charge, and Bella had been with her when she'd chosen some of the more serviceable pieces from the King's great stores on the lower floors of the castle. There was only one adornment on Rosalie's bedroom wall—a small piece of embroidery, still in its hoop, that read _Mia Koro, Mia Hejmo_ , or My Heart, My Home, in small, pink letters.

Finn's bedroom, which he'd chosen for himself, was smallest of the three. Bella peeked in with curiosity, eying the little cot in the corner and the trunk of clothes that matched his mother's. There was no dressing table here and no mirror glass to be found, but there was a crate along the far wall with a selection of small wooden toys that would suit any child of comparable age. Blocks, carved and smoothed by careful carpenters, were painted and stacked neatly in the box. A toy horse and soldier, both made from painted and hammered tin, lay forgotten at the bottom. There were animals, stitched and stuffed by kindly neighbour women, and a baby doll with button eyes and a sewn-on mouth. Lastly was a ball made of some thick, pliable leather, which had rolled into the corner of the room where it now sat untouched.

"Where is Finn?" Bella asked curiously and Rosalie beamed at her. "Is he home?"

"He is out in the back," said Rosalie, "playing at some kind of pretend. I kicked him out of the woodpile three times since breakfast—it's all I can do to stop him climbing it."

Bella frowned at her continued smile.

"Is he well?"

"He is _perfect."_ She leaned back against the wall. "He is positively _enamoured_ with the house, and he thinks the yard is just splendid."

"I'm glad…"

"You see," Rosalie pulled Bella from the child's room, closing the door quietly behind her. "He never had a place to play before. He was barely a _child_ at all, but now…"

Bella peeked through the kitchen window, from which she could just see the tail of Finn's shirt darting back behind the woodpile. If she strained, she could hear his little voice talking nonsense, shouting orders at some invisible comrade, and replying in kind to these quiet, mental playmates.

"He is a _boy_ again," Rosalie said with relish. "You don't know how wonderful it is to see him so. It's all any mother wants, really… for her child to be a child while he is still small and spry."

Bella said nothing in return but watched the boy through the window, observing how he caught his mother's eye before he rose to climb the woodpile, heeding her warning glance with disappointed gloom.

"But he _will_ be the death of me, I think," Rosalie laughed, shaking her head. "Or perhaps of _himself,_ if he's not careful. Do you know… I almost _died_ of fright when I caught him up there this morning. He was never so mischievous before."

"It is his duty and his right," replied Bella with mirth, "to test you and try you to the very end of life. He is your _son,_ after all, and if there is any truth at all in what I've heard, sons rarely grow out of such tendencies."

"I'll drink to that," sighed Rose. She led Bella to the final bedchamber. "I'd drink a happy, hearty drink, if it weren't for _this_ one in here."

She patted her stomach with tender joy.

"Here is where I'll put _him,"_ Rose continued softly. She pushed open the final door. "The neighbours were kind and generous when they came calling two nights prior. They have no idea who I am, of course, for the Councilman who oversees this district has set a splendid story to cover it up, but they know that I am rather destitute and poor, and could plainly see, when they brought me some new bread, that I was expecting another child."

She spoke with jovial unconcern, as if it did not bother her in the least to be called _destitute_ or _poor._

Bella saw why when the door was opened fully, and she was able to look upon the room which would, in due course, be home to a very small and tender mortal. She gasped in wonder when she saw it, sitting in the sunshine by the side window, gleaming brightly in the afternoon glow, and filled with happy, generous gifts.

"It's _beautiful,"_ said Bella at once. "Who made such a thing?"

"The man across the road is a carpenter," said Rosalie. "And a fine one, at that. That particular piece was made for his youngest grandchild, and she has since outgrown it."

It was a cradle of dark and shining wood. Carved and pieced by a master craftsman, it swayed in the slight breeze, neither creaking nor groaning beneath the weight of its bounty. The rungs were uniform and high—just the right width for a baby's tender limbs—and there was a thick, padded mattress at the bottom. When Bella touched it, she felt the varnish hardened like crystal beneath her fingers and the mattress stuffed with the softest goose feathers from some choice bird. It swayed from side to side, set as it was on wide, swooping rockers, though it did not disturb the piles of cloth that lay within.

There were little tiny baby clothes, and soft and gentle blankets. Knitted sweaters, caps of wool and felt, and piles upon piles of green and red, and yellow and purple. Jaunty red baby trousers—fit for any boy in the Kingdom—with little ties of gold and black. Green dresses with tucks and pleats, as grand as if from a princess' boudoir, lay in various lengths and girths for different stages of growth. Red, Bella knew, was the customary colour of small boys in the realm of Maronese children, and green, its utter counterpart, the more feminine hue. Red was the colour of strength—of love, and passion, and warmth—and represented all that was good and wholesome in a man of humble character. Green was its antithesis in every way—it was natural, and soft, and plentiful—and, according to Maronese tradition, so suited the feminine beyond any other hue, natural or fabricated. Excepting blue, which was such an expensive rarity among dyes and fabrics, a green dress was thought the absolute pinnacle of fashionable beauty.

"I have never met kinder people than these," said Rosalie, and Bella caught the hint of a tear in her eye. "Never in my life. I can tell you plainly, Bella, that when I came here, I did not expect the likes of _this._ I did not expect to be given a house—a _home,_ really—for myself or my son, and I certainly didn't expect an outpouring of love for an outsider's baby. This child will, I think, be the most spoiled creature this side of the river. Did you see the fine handiwork on those little dresses and quilts?"

Indeed she had, and Bella ran her fingers over the delicate lace, the soft, downy wool, and the countless tiny stitches and tucks, all of which had been lovingly used by the babies of the past, and even more lovingly given to one especial baby of the future.

* * *

Her tea was hot and her plate was generous, and by the time the sun began to set and the skies had grown pink in the west, Bella felt that her heart was full.

"There is much yet to do," said Rosalie with relish. She and Bella were laid out on the sofa in the parlour, their feet resting on ottomans from the fireside. "The garden is overladen. I must begin to harvest, lest I let it go to waste. I will have an oversupply of beans—I know that just by looking—but perhaps I can offer some in return to the neighbours who have been so unreservedly kind."

"There is the market, too," said Bella quickly. "Perhaps someone there will buy?"

"I think not," said Rosalie. "Beans are commonplace, I hear. I merely offer mine as a gift of thanks."

"Well, maybe," sighed Bella. "Perhaps I can come and help, if I can get away again."

"Oh you _must_ get away again!" said Rosalie indulgently. "It's been such a relief, having you near."

"I wholly agree." Bella breathed a sigh of contentment. "There is something wonderful about being among friends, especially now that you've got your own space."

"I _love_ my own space," she said with relish. "I cannot wait until it becomes _truly_ mine."

"Truly yours?" she queried. "Is it not given freely already?"

"Oh yes." She nodded sagely. "Lorenzo told me as much without my asking. The house belonged to the Crown, as the last owners died without an heir, and your good and kindly King gave it without a qualm or condition. I shudder to think of how much a house such as this might have cost had I been asked to buy it outright. I could work every day for ten years and still not afford such a luxury, I think."

"The King is very good," said Bella loyally. "I know he's given many such houses."

"Only in the east," quipped Rosalie. "The Western dwellers, they say, will not abide it."

"No," agreed Bella with a frown. "I've heard rumours of snobbery and poor tempers from that end of town."

"But I could not ask for more." She gazed about her parlour with relish. "It is perhaps not so grand as the _castle,_ but…"

"It is every bit as beautiful," said Bella at once. "The castle is _lovely,_ of course, and very bit as homely, but there is something quaint about this place that the castle cannot match."

"Don't be a fool," laughed Rosalie. "This humble house is _nothing_ compared to a castle. But it _is_ mine," she sighed, "and so I _must_ love it more."

Bella laughed.

"The night grows closer," said Rosalie after a moment's pause. "I expect you'll be off soon, before darkness falls?"

"Probably," she agreed. "Edward is coming back from the Eastern gates. He promised me some hours to visit, and he's now been more than three."

Rosalie cocked her head, curious.

"I wonder at your familiarity," she said softly. "When you said it in the jungle, I thought you might be bluffing."

Bella's cheeks went red at once and she turned with veiled curiosity, cocking her head to the side.

"Bluffing?"

"About your connection to the King," she said quickly. "About your… closeness with him."

"We are friends," said Bella carefully, though her pulse had begun to throb. "We are friends, that's all."

"What does he call you?" she asked. _"My Lady?"_

"Not if I can help it," Bella grimaced. "I prefer my given name, and so he gave me his, too."

"And you are _just_ friends?" she asked, glancing quietly through the window. Down the lane, approaching the house, Bella could see the outline of the approaching party from the East, with Emmett mounted atop his great, chestnut stallion and Edward, on foot, trailing idly beside two armed soldiers. They walked slowly, picking a careful trail through the rocks and dirt, and if she strained, Bella could hear them chattering, their words indistinguishable in the quiet, soft evening.

"Just friends," she said at once. _"Only_ friends…"

Rosalie shot her a look of curious scrutiny, beneath which Bella felt her face dissolve into an embarrassed mess of flushed cheeks and bitten lips. She looked away from Rose, glancing instead into the glowing embers of the hearth, and neither woman said a thing until they heard a knock on the door, and the gentle creak of the hinges being thrown back.

"Rosalie?" Emmett's voice rang clear through the entrance and that good woman, spurred into action, rose like a shot. "Rosalie, are you in?"

"In the parlour," she said softly. "Come on through."

Emmett's large and jovial face peered around the corner with a soft and easy smile. He bowed to Bella, dipping his head down in formal acknowledgement of her, and then again to Rosalie, who curtseyed back.

Bella could not see her face, but she caught the look of softened appreciation on Emmett's and felt her eyes go wide.

Rosalie had not believed Bella when she'd said that she and Edward were only friends—Bella knew it from her gaze, which had been sharp and discerning, and from her prodding, which had been pointed and purposeful. Bella herself did not know if it was true—she did not know if she was onlyfriends with the good and kind King who had taken such an interest in her wellbeing and her safety, or if there was something morebrewing beneath their gentle conversation and the tender, fledgling fissures threatening the walls they'd both built up over years of hurt and struggle. She could not be sure, one way or the other, whether what she felt for Edward was only friendship, or if he was destined to be a comrade in the great walk of life, but as she stared at Emmett now, her eyes discerning and dark, she saw something else entirely from what she had expected.

He took Rose's hand when he spoke to her, and Bella saw that Rose did not shy away. Emmett had been with her since she'd left—had escorted her to this new home, had helped her set up her furniture and belongings, and had even, Bella had heard, tidied her yard and her pathway. She'd fed him, and housed him, and let him sleep upon the sofa that they'd only just vacated, and Bella saw, with a surprise and wonder that was not _entirely_ shocking, that there was _definitely_ something more than friendship brewing between the two of them.

Her suspicions—for suspicions they remained until that very moment in time—were confirmed with the re-entrance of Finn from his happy garden jaunt. When he came in, rosy and pink from his outdoor play, his gaze fell upon the standing pair with a gleeful relish in his wide, blue eyes. Bella knew with instinct that the terror had gone. This was not an _enemy_ that clutched his mother's hand but a friend, a companion. Emmett was not a bane to the child—not as he had been just four days prior in the high, unfamiliar chamber in the King's castle—but a _playmate_ , a familiar face that promised not hurt, but joy, and not sternness, but mirth. The boy's eyes widened with abject and frantic pleasure and without so much as a word or sound for his mother or her guest, he threw himself at Emmett like a dog upon its master, letting Emmett tickle and swing him high atop his shoulders with a booming laugh like thunder and he giggled, high and gleeful, as if there was nothing else so wonderful in all the world.

* * *

They arrived back at the castle just before nightfall, when the sky had grown dark and purple and the first hints of stars, clear and bright in the east, had begun to twinkle and shine in the gloom.

"The King!" The soldier at the gates, high atop the watchtower beside the lowered portcullis, shouted noisily from the window. "Open the gates! The King is returned!"

They were swept into the yard in quick succession, Edward's hand never leaving her arm as he guided her, quiet and solemn towards the doors of the castle.

They were stopped, however, by a sudden and piercing shout.

"Hallo!" A soldier, rushing from the tower, came running on foot towards the party. Emmett swung his horse around, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Bella saw with mild apprehension that he rested his fist on the hilt of his sword.

"Hush, Bella," Edward whispered in her ear. "A mere safeguard, that's all…"

"My King!"

The soldier dropped to his knees.

"Rise, man," said Edward at once. "What's the trouble?"

"There is… news, My King." The man bowed graciously to Bella as he spoke. "News from the dungeons."

"Dungeons?" Bella blurted, glancing astonished at Edward. "You've got _dungeons_ here?"

The King spared her only a fleeting smile before he turned to the soldier.

"The prisoners?" he demanded. "What of them?"

Emmett joined them now, his face a mask of furious determination.

"There is a man," said the soldier. "A man determined to speak, at last."

"Praise be to the Gods above!" said Emmett loudly. "I'd begun to wonder if they'd ever say a word!"

"Prisoners?" Bella looked askance at Edward. "What prisoners?"

"From the raid at Terosankta," said Edward quickly. "We took six men back with us. They've been silent in the dungeons these long weeks."

"One man wants to speak," said the soldier. "He wants to talk…"

"And so what is the delay?" Emmett dismounted his horse and turned towards the castle, and Bella saw, for the first time, a row of small, barred windows at the farthest end of the castle walls. They were just at ground level, so narrow that scarcely a wink of sunlight could make its way through, but seemed bright now in the dull haze of evening, lit by a low, flickering light beyond. "Why weren't we sought at once?"

"Commander…" The man deferred politely to Emmett with a nod, "there is a… complication."

"What complication is this?" Emmett spoke impatiently. "What do you mean by it? Speak plainly, man!"

"What I mean is this. The man says he will speak, but beyond that, we know not what he says."

"What he says?"

"He speaks in tongues," said the soldier, and Bella, to her astonishment, felt Edward's fingers squeeze reflexively on her hand. "He speaks in some strange tongue that only _they_ understand, and he insists that it is the _only_ language he will speak, for reasons known only to himself!"

"He speaks in tongues?" demanded Emmett sharply. "What tongue is that?"

"I know not…"

"I do." Edward's eyes were dark now, and he glowered moodily at the grassy ground. "I know _precisely_ what he speaks, and yet…"

He looked at Bella with careful consideration. Bella stared back at him with surprise, a curious anxiety growing in the pit of her belly, and saw a strange concentration etched there that was unfamiliar to her. It made her nervous and she recoiled from it, flinching back as if he'd reached out to strike her, and his gaze softened at once before he shook his head.

"And yet." The King laughed to himself, blowing out a breath. "We have a conundrum, Emmett."

"Indeed."

Edward, releasing Bella's hand, took her instead by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. She stared nervously, uncertain of what this sudden shift might mean, but when he spoke she little expected the comment and it took her some moments to make sense of it.

"I must ask a favour of you, my own, that I neither relish nor enjoy."

"What favour?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Edward sighed, "that the language they speak, the one that we cannot comprehend…"

Her eyes went wide with realization.

"They speak English?" she gasped, a sudden excitement flaring in the pit of her belly. "They know my language?"

"Indeed, I think they do." His shoulders slumped. "I think they do, Bella… and so I must ask you, though I deign to send a _Lady_ into the bowels of the dungeon…"

"Yes." Bella spoke at once, and with vehement conviction. "Yes, Edward. Show me to him. I will tell you what he says. I will tell you exactly what he means by all of this, and just what secrets he might be willing to reveal."

"You will not be in a cell," said Edward firmly, and he looked at Emmett when he said it. Emmett nodded grimly back. "You will speak _through_ the bars, and he will not touch a hair on your head."

She nodded at once.

"You will tell him this," Edward turned to the soldier. "You will tell that man below that I send him an emissary of the King. An emissary who, by all accounts, is as valuable to me as a Princess of royal blood."

"Yes, My King…"

"You will impress upon him," continued Edward, "that if he harms so much as a hair on her head, he will be treated to the finest of of my dungeon's _hospitality._ "

The final word came out more like a growl and Bella, feeling suddenly frightened, shuddered.

"Yes, My King…"

"You will guide her," said Edward softly. "There will be two men by her at all times. If that fiend strikes out at her, or looks to do some other damage, you will strike him there where he stands."

"Understood, your grace…"

"When will he speak?" Edward pulled Bella near to him again, as if he feared she might be taken in a moment, and the guard hesitated.

"As soon as you are able, My Lady." The soldier bowed to her. "As soon as you are able, and as soon as you are ready."

"I'm ready now," said Bella at once. "I'm ready, Edward. Take me to him. I want to know what he has to say."

 **A/N: Much love and thanks goes out to all of you lovely readers who take time out of your busy days to read the things I've written. It's so cool knowing that so many people think it's worth it. This chapter was a little easier to write, and I'm infinitely grateful for your patience and dedication.**

" _ **Freedom is what you do with what has been done to you."  
-Jean-Paul Sartre**_


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Beneath the polished, shining floors of the royal palace there was a tunnel. Wide in breadth with low, arched ceilings, it dripped with the condensation that ran down the walls in thick rivulets, pooling in small, shallow trenches that glistened beneath the dim glow of oil lamps that hung on on the walls. Footsteps echoed in this place—the tapping of hard-soled shoes on the cobbled, stony floor made phantom knocks ring from the darkness ahead and it spooked her, unsettled as she was, though she held her head high and her face impassive.

"They're just down yonder," drawled the guard at her side. Emmett, who stood like a sentry at her back, clapped her shoulder in sympathy.

"It is not common for a Lady to venture this far down," he said apologetically. "We'd not ask it of you were it not of vital importance."

"I'm fine." Her voice did not shake. "I'm not afraid."

But the tingle that ran down her back, icy and sharp, said otherwise.

The King had remained above, sending her off like a stony-faced gargoyle at the locked and barred entrance to the dungeon tunnels. The sloping floor had seemed to her a terrible descent—walking those first few metres in absolute blackness, with nothing but a soldier's glinting sword to give her any sense of purpose or direction, she had held her breath the entire way down. She had exhaled only once her feet had found sturdy ground that neither sloped nor bent, but rather went on in a line so absolutely straight and long that even though she squinted, she could not make out its end.

" _The prisoner will not talk to_ you," a guard had told the King. _"He's said it plainly enough. He will have nothing to do with you, and will not speak if you deign to show your face."_

The King had been displeased, but Bella, feeling suddenly braver than she ought, had turned without another word to descend into the great abyss.

Emmett's presence was a balm to her agitated and heightened nerves. Bella did not know him very well, but despite their fledgling acquaintance, there seemed to be a natural trust that marked him as worthy. He had been unfailingly kind to her from the first, had done whatever he could to make her safe and comfortable, and the gentleness and dedication with which he'd argued Rosalie's case before the King made him, if not a friend, then at least a solid and familiar presence in the darkness of the dank, dripping corridor, where there was neither sunlight nor moonlight to guide them.

"Who is this man, Emmett?" she asked. Her voice, though low and soft, was amplified in the corridor. It bounced back at her in noisy, mocking echoes, each talking over the other until they fell silent in a lull. Emmett glanced down at her with concern when she started, but did not comment as he answered.

"A man from the cliffs," he said gruffly. He, too, was answered by the void. "One of the captured…"

"I know that, but _who?"_ she asked again. "What is his name?"

"He will not tell it."

"How did he come to be captured?"

"He was disarmed," said Emmett easily enough, "and then bound. He was brought here for questioning with his comrades. I've had men down here day and night to watch over them, and not one of them has said a sensible word since they arrived."

"Are they all together?"

"Same block, different cells," he replied. "There are fewer men needed that way."

"And are they…"

Emmett eyed her curiously.

"Are they what?" he asked and Bella hesitated. "You can ask me anything you'd like."

"I just…"

"You just what?"

"I just _worry,_ that's all."

"Are you _concerned_ for them?"

She blushed bright pink though in the darkness, he could not see it. He had guessed it true, though her squirming concern and nervousness was tempered by a measure of hot and sticky apprehension. She _knew_ these men were foul—she would know it without ever laying eyes or ears on any of them—and she knew that they were dangerous. She knew that they had done terrible things… that they had sought her in the mountainous jungles, and that they'd hunted _Rosalie,_ with not-so-pure motives and intentions. They'd attacked and wounded the King, gouging that great and terrible wound in his shoulder and arm, and they'd killed Samuelo and countless other guards in the name of justice and revenge, all for a crime which was, in Bella's mind, no real crime at all.

But still, she worried.

"What a gentle little heart you must have, Miss Bella," laughed Emmett. He sounded genuinely amused and Bella, feeling hot and foolish, scowled into the blackness. "What a kind and generous soul."

Bella said nothing.

"All men in custody are treated with civility," Emmett said finally, after his chortles had died down. "They are given food and drink, provided with blankets and a pallet for sleeping, and are given water to wash when they require it. The cells are not so dank as this—there are windows there, though they are barred, and the air is fresh and clean."

Bella nodded her approval.

"They should have no complaints, I assure you. It might not be _exactly_ how they're used to living but it is not uncivil and they are not left wanting."

"Good."

"Yes." He eyed her with curious interest and she looked away at once. "Yes, I suppose it is…"

"Just ahead, Sir!" The soldier leading them gestured forward, taking a lamp from the wall. He held it out before them with a squint. "The sun is low, sir, and the cells are dark."

"Come, Bella." Emmett pulled her forward. "We will speak with this man before night falls completely. I'd not like to keep you long, for I fear that if I do, that skulking creature at the gate will come to snatch you up."

Bella stifled a grin at this astute description of the waiting Edward.

"He is down here, My Lady." The soldier pointed down the darkened hallway, where Bella could just begin to hear the pattering of footsteps that were not her own or her guards'. "In cell seven."

Empty cells, which had begun to flash by as she walked, were numbered with a digit made of rusted iron nailed into the stone above each set of bars. Bella had avoided looking within—the dank emptiness made her shiver with perceived cold and discomfort—but she glanced up on instinct upon hearing this bit of news and saw the number 21 imprinted on the cell to her right. She hesitated when she saw the interior of that gloomy abode—a high window was half hidden by a well of stone on the outside, set with thick iron bars that were fastened deep within the rock walls themselves. A pallet of straw was piled in the far corner and two pots—one a pitcher and the other a commode—were on the floor to the right. The stony walls had once been red—all the stone in the castle, Bella knew, was the same ruddy brick—but years of dripping water and filthy, groping hands had turned it a dull and dingy gray. It looked mottled in the twilight, and cold, and she steered herself away at once when she felt Emmett's hand between her shoulders.

"Come, Bella." He ushered her forward. "The sooner we get finished, the better. The King mistrusts these men, and I know it tries him greatly to wait as he must."

Cell seven came sooner than Bella might have liked.

Bella could tell when they were near the tenanted cells by the sudden appearance of armed guards. Bella, being a Lady and a special favourite of the King, came with her own accompaniment of a guide and Emmett, both of whom were charged with her safety and protection amongst such dangerous and volatile men. Two guards for one woman had seemed excessive to Bella, who wondered just what sort of damage an unarmed destitute could do in the bowels of a dungeon where he had neither hope nor prayer of escape, but when she saw the retinue lined up along the walls which were now lit by flaming torches instead of lamps, she staggered in disbelief.

Six cells, all locked tight, stood three by three across from one another. As with all the other cells, these were placed well apart with a thick expanse of bare, ruddy wall between each. Doors two, four, and six were along the left-hand wall, three, five and seven to the right, and Bella saw with mild amazement that there were two men on either side of each cell door, one armed with a sword and the other a spear. Each stared so steadfastly into the cell across that they didn't so much as stir when Bella, Emmett, and their guide came into view, blinking in the sudden harshness of the orange torchlight.

"The Lady for prisoner seven," said Emmett gruffly and Bella saw two men beside cell six step forward.

The guards, it seemed, had been well-trained on how to watch their prisoners. Bella saw with some wonder how the placement of these men had been no mere accident, and how there seemed to be a method to the strange business of twelve guards for six caged men. The soldiers beside door number seven did not stir when Emmett gestured, as Bella expected they might. Instead they remained still, staring into cell six, where they watched their hunched and silent prisoner curled atop his thin pallet of straw.

 _A clever system,_ Bella thought ruefully, watching as one of the guards began to fit a large, rusted key from an old ring into the lock on the barred door of cell seven. _But an exceedingly torturous hell, to be constantly scrutinized and so utterly and completely laid bare._

"Prisoner up!" The guard's voice echoed noisily and jarred more than one dozing prisoner. "Seven, up!"

Bella watched with sudden apprehension when the guard with the spear moved into the cell and there was a scuffle—a few bumps, a shout, and finally, a volley of curses—before a tousled, scrawny man was pulled into the light of the corridor where he squinted, bringing his unbound hands to shield his face.

"Bind him," ordered Emmett coldly. "Hands at least. Leave his feet for now. If he gets unruly, we'll rethink it."

From Bella knew not where, a length of thick, rough rope was produced. The man's hands, now clenched and outstretched, were bound tightly together before him.

"Where are we to go?" Bella asked in a whisper and Emmett, snapping his eyes back down to her, frowned.

"Has the chamber been set up?" he asked, glancing down towards the end of the hallway. Bella saw a wooden door there with a square grille of iron at eye-level, and the guards nodded sagely.

"Set him there," said Emmett at once. "Is there a chair for the Lady?"

"Aye, Sir." The soldier with the spear nodded. "And paper and pencil."

"Good." Emmett nodded towards the door. "Put him in. You'll stand sentry at the door, you hear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you, man." Emmett turned to their guide, who was standing by the nearest sconce. "You'll remain here until we are ready to return. Assist as needed."

"Understood, sir."

"Bella, I'll go in with you," said Emmett to her, and feeling suddenly small under the might of his authority, she nodded quickly. "He said he'd not speak before the King, but he said nothing of me."

"Thank you."

He smiled weakly at her.

"I pray to the Gods that he tells us something useful," sighed Emmett, urging her forward towards the room. Bella stared steadfastly forward as they moved past the other cells. She could hear the grunts and groans of their inhabitants, and she could smell the musty, sour scent of unwashed bodies and unclean linens. She held her breath for as long as she could, the odor making her recoil in violent disgust as the sudden memories of her long days in the jungle arose without invitation.

"Just through here, and sit opposite him," said Emmett. "If he so much as lays a _finger_ on you, the interview is over."

"I understand." Emmett must have heard the tremor in her voice for when she spoke, he stopped, watching her with infinite compassion.

"Are you scared, Bella?" he asked gently. "I promise, he can't hurt you."

"I'm not _afraid_ of him," said Bella with the familiar comfort of honesty on her side. "I just don't know what he might have to say."

"I wish I could help you there," said Emmett ruefully. "But alas, he will speak to no one except what he calls _the English._ "

The word, spoken in such a terrible accent that it was almost unrecognizable, made Bella's stomach lurch. In Emmett's mouth it sounded more like _een-GALL-eesh_ than the true word, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was. He seemed to understand the quirk of her brow when she made sense of the word for he chuckled at himself and at her, but offered nothing more.

"In," he said. "If you want to stop, just say the word. Don't let yourself become frightened or alarmed by the likes of _him."_

Bella was ushered through the door where she blinked, stunned by the sudden brightness of a hearth, into a small, but not uncomfortable, room. It was a rather bare space, and more than a little austere, but it was cozy and warm. A table that could comfortably seat six sat along the far wall with a bench on one side and chairs along the other. The fire, by which there were no chairs or stools, was large and hot. There were hooks along the walls for swords and pikes—weapons, no doubt, kept by the soldiers who guarded these dungeons—and along the farthest wall, through a door that was only just cracked open, Bella could see a series of long, narrow beds with clean, white linens and a single down pillow on each.

"This is where the guards sleep when they are on duty," explained Emmett. "They switch out through the night and so must take their rest here. This is where they eat, and over yonder is where they sleep."

Bella said nothing, glancing down at the table.

The prisoner sat on the centre of the long, wooden bench, his head bent down and his bound hands resting atop the table. Opposite him, before the centre chair, was a pile of rough-edged parchment and a pencil of wood and charcoal, accompanied by an ewer of cool, sweet water and an etched glass goblet that looked as if it had been summoned directly from the King's own kitchen.

Emmett pulled out the seat for her and she sat, somewhat stiff and awkward, before this strange and tired creature. She felt her face grow suddenly warm, though her blush did not entice him to move, and he sat, still and silent, for what felt like an hour before she shifted uneasily in her seat.

Before she could ask a thing, she saw Emmett's foot snap out and kick the edge of the bench, jolting the man so that he sat up, his face red with fury.

"Filthy animal!" spat the man, and Bella saw the unmoved placidity on Emmett's face when he did not recognize the words. "Filthy, brazen _beast…"_

Bella cleared her throat and the man snapped around, his hot eyes fixed on her in an instant. This look Emmett _did_ recognize and Bella saw him sidle up to stand at the head of the table, his fists clenched atop the wood.

"Call off your _dog_ or I'll not say a _thing,"_ drawled the man at once, eying him with some disquiet. He would not look at Bella, keeping his disgusted, narrowed gaze on Emmett who stared steadily back. "Go on, _My Lady._ Tell him."

"The man bids you stand aside," said Bella delicately, and Emmett's face went dark. "He says he will not speak if…"

"You nasty little liar!" The man banged his fists on the table and she yelped. "Tell him what I said! I did not _bid him stand aside._ Tell him what I called him, girl… I want to see his face when you say it!"

Bella was more than a little astonished and felt her temper piqued and primed, but turned to Emmett with as much grace as she could muster and blew out her breath.

"The _man,"_ she scowled to herself, "bids me tell my _dog_ to stand aside," she said with distaste. "He says he shan't speak if you don't move."

"Dog, eh?" Emmett chuckled low, leaning closer to the skinny figure on the bench. "He'd best be careful who he's calling _dog._ I'm not the one who's bound and caged." To his credit, Bella saw that the man did not flinch, even when Emmett's menacing knuckles cracked against the table. The man grinned with crooked, yellowing teeth when Emmett's temper shone through, but the latter only glanced apologetically at Bella, whose heart was racing.

Upon seeing her apprehension Emmett desisted at once, retreating back into the shadows where he continued to lurk, but did not impose.

"Better…" The man leaned his elbows on the table. "Much better. You must be a good mistress to keep such an animal on a leash."

Bella didn't say a word.

"Iknew they'd bring me _you,"_ he continued tauntingly. "I just _knew_ it. I _knew_ the rumours were true."

"What rumours?" It had been so long since she'd spoken her mother tongue that it felt strange to hear it flow so naturally, though their accents were vastly different. Hers was the familiar American she'd had all her life while his, while not entirely describable by any words she knew, seemed a vague amalgamation of European intonations.

"The West knows all," said the man with a grin. His hair, which was slicked with grease, hung dark and stringy before his wide, blue eyes. Those eyes were fixed on Bella with an unsettling intensity that would have made her squirm had she not been so steadfastly determined to remain still and stoic.

The man ogled her with abject glee and she sighed, shaking her head.

"Whatever you've heard, I'm sure it's a lie."

The man chortled.

"Goddesses are no mean company," he said lowly, and her heart stuttered wildly. "A goddess is a worthy foe."

"I'm not your foe."

"Aren't you?" The man leaned back, shaking his hair from his eyes. Bella saw how sallow he looked—how thin, and wasted, and pale—and she had a sudden suspicion that he was not entirely well. He might have been a handsome man—he was younger, even, than she, and neither broad nor tall, but he had the sharp cheeks and the strong jaw and chin that were the marks of manly beauty. His face was covered in a thick, black stubble that made his eyes look sunken and overlarge, and he had a long, shapely nose that might have been broken a time or two. His mouth was pursed, pressed into a hard, disgusted line, but when he relaxed after a moment of scrutiny, Bella thought she might have caught a touch of mirth about the edges.

"What do they call you?" she asked softly. The man said nothing. "Do you have a name?"

"Do _you_ have a name, Goddess?"

"I'm _not_ a goddess."

"I'm sure."

Bella bit her tongue to keep herself in check.

"Why did you ask me here?"

" _Did_ I ask you here?" The man raised a sardonic eyebrow and gazed about the chamber with reluctant appreciation. "I must say… it is an upgrade from my usual cell, and how _kind_ of those animals to let me loose for such a visit! I suppose I should be honoured."

"I've no time for games," she said at once. "If you won't tell me what it is you want, I'll leave."

"A tragic threat, I assure you." His mocking, drawling voice grated on her. "A _most_ unpleasant tantrum…"

"I mean it."

" _Sure_ you do…"

Bella, suddenly hot with impatience, lifted herself from her chair and glanced haughtily at Emmett.

"He won't say anything worth hearing," she said in Maronese. "I think we should go…"

"As you wish…"

"Wait."

The two men spoke at the same time and Bella, feeling a surge of prideful triumph, glanced imperiously at the man at the table.

"Sit down," he said, jerking his chin towards her seat. "Sit down, girl…"

"I am _not_ a girl." She sat down stiffly. "Far from it. And you've no right to call me so."

" _Woman,_ then," said the man impatiently. "By the Gods, you're hasty."

"I'm _not_ hasty," she corrected. "I've merely no wish to talk nonsense. And it grows dark… I'd like to go to bed."

He stared at her sharply and this time, she did not blush.

"Why have you summoned me here?" she asked again, studying his face with suspicion. "You tell the guards that you will speak to no one but _the English._ Why is that?"

"Because I wanted to know if the rumours were real," said the man at once. "I wanted to know if _you_ were real."

"I am quite real, I assure you." She sat back in her chair, fiddling with her pencil. "But what's it to you?"

"A goddess is fallen from the heavens, and she asks me what it means to me?" The man tipped his head back in astonishment. "It means a great deal, I assure you…"

"I'm _not_ a goddess."

"No?" He eyed her quietly. "Then explain yourself to me. I want to know how you came to be here, and more importantly, how you know the Sacred Language."

This took Bella by surprise and she froze, suddenly pensive.

"The Sacred Language?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the language of the Gods, the language of the _heavens!"_ The man reached out his bound hands, stopping before the ropes could pull. "I've tested you through and through, and your mastery of it is sound. More sound, I daresay, than even our most learned scholars."

"I _am_ a scholar." Bella laughed derisively. "I studied English for six years!"

The man stared at her in amazement.

"Then you've studied the Texts," he said, and he spoke the word with such respect that Bella immediately capitalized it in her head. "The _ancient_ Texts…"

"If you mean the Bible," she said, "then yes, I know it."

The man bowed his head in reverence and Bella bade him sit up, impatient and embarrassed.

"I can die a happy man," said the creature, and there was a new and sudden light about him that unnerved her. "I can die a happy man having met a goddess walking among us."

"I am _not_ a goddess!"

"Yes, ma'am." He ducked his head again and she felt her irritation grow. "Yes, My Lady…"

"Sit _up!"_ The words were waspish and he obeyed at once, which only further piqued her. "What is it that you want? Surely you didn't call me here to gawk?"

He considered her for a long moment before he spoke again.

"What I want," he asked, glancing at Emmett, "is a favour."

Bella laughed outright.

"What have you done to earn such a thing?" she demanded. "Why should I speak to _anyone_ on your behalf if all you do is vex and taunt me?"

"Because I know things." The man spoke lowly. "I know many things, My Lady, that would do you good to know, too."

"And what things are those?"

"I want your word that I'll get what I want."

"I don't _know_ what you want…"

"I want a cell," said the man, interrupting her. "I want a _new_ cell. Away from the rest."

"Why would you want that?"

"My reasons don't matter," he said. "I want a new cell. I don't care which and I don't care where, just so long as it isn't _there,_ and it isn't near my comrades.

"I don't have the power to…"

"And I want _peace,_ " he continued. "I will be guarded—I know it plainly—but I want my guards to stand outside _my_ door. I do not like being watched so."

"I don't have the authority to change cells."

"Aye, I know." He glanced quickly at Emmett, who still lurked unspeaking in the shadows. "But _he_ does. And I think…"

He smirked at Bella with a knowing, almost offensive pride before he spoke, and she felt bitter dislike in the very back of her throat.

" _He_ does," finished the man. "That creature there has all the power in the world to give me what I want, and you've got his ear. So ask him, Lady, and see what he has to say."

Bella, disgruntled and suspicious, put the request to Emmett, who frowned.

"And what does he say he'll give us in return?" asked the latter in Maronese. "What does he offer in exchange?"

The man did not need her to translate for him.

"Information," repeated the man in English. "Information that is of dire importance to your Kingdom, and more importantly, your _King."_

"What information?" She spoke without translating for Emmett. "What information is that?"

"Give me your word and I'll give you mine," he bargained. "A cell away from the others, with guards who do not stare. That is all I ask. A little peace, a little quiet, and some goddamned privacy."

Bella translated and Emmett, looking serious, spoke slowly.

"You will be given a new cell down the hall, and guards who do not stare _if_ and _when_ you give us information that is pertinent and useful," he said. The man stared blankly at him. "I know you understand me, so nod if you agree."

The man, pondering for a moment, nodded in quiet acquiescence.

"And you, Lady." He eyed Bella with fervent delight. "I want _your_ word that he'll keep _his."_ He jerked his chin at Emmett. "The word of a Goddess is as good as gold."

"I am _not…"_

"Not a goddess, I know." The man rolled his eyes. "But nevertheless. If not a goddess' word, then at least a Lady's. I'll trust _you_ more than _him."_

"Emmett is honest and true," said Bella impatiently. "If he says a thing, he means it."

"Good."

There was silence for a moment longer.

"You asked me my name, before," said the man. "They call me Clemens."

"Clemens," Bella repeated. "Is that the name your mother gave you?"

"No," admitted the man, "but that is what I'm called nevertheless. Do you know why we were at your Holy Lands?"

"I do." She felt her spine stiffen. "I've learned all about it in the interim."

"We know she's here," said the man with dark delight. "The wife of my master's brother."

"Your _master?"_ Bella asked sharply. "Who do you call _master?"_

"You know his name as well as I," said Clemens sharply. "Do not waste our brief time together with banalities."

Bella grimaced.

"His brother's wife, and his brother's son," said the man. "We heard she'd come here."

"You heard?"

"Aye, we did…" The man began to fidget with the ends of the rope around his wrists. "We heard it plain as day."

"From where?"

"All in due course, my little Lady. All in due course."

Bella fell silent.

"You were never our target, you know," said Clemens idly, once he'd finished toying with the rope. "Not even the _King,_ may the devil take him. Attacking him and his own was merely a happy accident."

"I _know."_

"We wanted the woman and the boy," he continued. "They'd been missing for four days already, and my Master feared them dead. Do you know that the child is his only heir?"

"I've heard."

"He is." Clemens nodded sagely. "A very rich little brat indeed, though hardly worth what it costs to feed him. Such a sickly princeling I've never seen before in all my life."

"Don't talk so about a child," snapped Bella. "He's just a boy."

"Ahh…" Clemens lit up like a child at Christmas, and Bella's protests stuttered to a halt. "So you admit it, then… you _have_ seen him."

She said nothing.

"Then our suspicions were correct." He glanced at Emmett, looking speculative. "Is it also true that this great _oaf_ was seen sleeping on her couch in the little pink house?"

Bella felt suddenly cold. Her fear, which had thus far lain dormant behind the irritation and fury glowing hot in her breast, doused her at once in a wash of icy apprehension that made her shiver on her chair. The fire was warm—that was not the issue—but hearing those words from this creature's mouth, hearing them so plainly and confidently spoken, made her blood run cold.

"I don't know what you mean," she said shakily. "What house?"

"Oh don't play me for a fool." Clemens leaned forward, leering. "I know _exactly_ where to find her. Oh, we learned it quick enough… a little pink house by the river through town, with a little yard and a coconut tree. Isn't that what they call it? Coconut Cottage?"

Bella pushed herself away from the table with a start.

"Who told you that?" she demanded. "Who told you such lies?"

"Lies?" The man chortled. "I think not, Lady. We know full well that the bitch and her brat are right here in the King's city, given sanctuary they have no right to claim and that he has no right to give."

"Anyone can claim sanctuary, especially when they're fleeing _violence,"_ she hissed. "It's nothing to you what either of them do."

"No, it's not," shrugged the man with a grin. "But it _is_ the business of Rojce Lamman, and even _more_ so the business of _Jamos."_

The two names, spoken so sharply and clearly, made even Emmett jerk his head up. He stared between Bella and the prisoner as if they played a demented game of table tennis until he fixed his eyes on Bella's pale face and, seeing her fear, stepped forward.

"Enough," said Emmett sharply. "My Lady, come. We will go…"

But before she could stand from the table Bella felt the sharp, cold grip of the man's thin fingers on her wrist.

Swords were drawn. Spears, resting against walls and doors, were poised in an instant. Bella heard Emmett shouting, felt the cold fingers retreat when a blade was pressed to the prisoner's back, and saw, with a disconcerting terror, how steadfast and unflinching the man remained, staring so intently that she felt as if he might look _through_ her.

"Tell your _King_ that we already know!" he shouted. Emmett jerked him to his feet. "Tell your King that _Rojce_ knows! Tell him that we know where she is, and what he has done, and that the West will come for him, with all its fighting glory, to reclaim what is theirs and lay waste to his city!"

The man was hauled away by the guards at the door, screaming and shouting like a mad thing, until they heard the clamour of voices rise to a crescendo, the unsettling sound of a thud against the wall, and then silence—blissful, peaceful, yet terrifying silence—that made Bella's heart race in her throat.

"Write it down, Bella," said Emmett softly, kneeling next to her. "Whatever that madman told you, write it down."

"I don't need to." Bella pushed her papers aside. "I need to go, Emmett. _We_ need to go."

"Are you alright?" He pressed his fingers to her cheek, but she slapped them away impatiently. "You're pale and hot…"

"We must _go,"_ she insisted, rising to her feet. "Take me back to Edward. We must go _now."_

"Alright…" He stepped aside and watched, with mild astonishment, as Bella forced her way through the guarded door. She moved with purpose down the long, wide corridor, Emmett hot at her heels. She did not look into any of the cells, though the other prisoners had arisen and were growing loud. She ran into the darkness, sprinting past door 19 where the man was being resettled, and moved with a purpose through the dingy, dripping corridor, rising some minutes later up the tall and narrow ramp.

The sky outside was black now, with a smattering of bright white stars, and she nearly crashed into the King who'd heard her approach and was waiting, filled with worry, at the mouth of the cave. He caught her when she stumbled, breathless and panting, and she threw her arms around him in a tight and trembling hug.

"Easy, sweetheart." He pulled her further from the gate as Emmett, puffing and confused, emerged from the darkness after her. The guard at the gate locked it up at once and Edward raised a questioning brow at Emmett.

"Beats me," he said in astonishment. "The man was foul enough, to be sure, but I've no idea what was said."

Bella pulled back at once.

"Did he frighten you, sweetheart?" Edward smoothed her hair back from her flushed and heated face. "Was he very rude?"

"No…"

"Then what?" The guard at the gate, watching them with interest, made Bella falter. She felt a sudden and queasy suspicion deep in her belly and she eyed him with mistrust, making the man falter and blush. The King saw it too, eying her with peculiar inquiry but he did not complain when she pulled him into a dark recess beside the castle doors, out of sight and hearing from anyone but himself and Emmett.

"Come this way." Bella glanced nervously about her, looking around the corner and to the closed and bolted window before she spoke, her voice shaking in the stillness.

"The West knows about Rosalie and Finn," she said in a rush and both men's faces went dark with anger. "They know she's here, and that you've agreed to shelter them, and that her house is pink, and near the river…"

"Impossible," said Emmett at once, his face dark and surly. "Absolutely impossible. Not even our own townsfolk know the whole story!"

"He told me so himself!" Bella insisted. "He told me _exactly_ that, down to the very colour of her walls! He told me about _you_ , Emmett, and how you were sleeping on her couch!"

"They've not been out of that dungeon in weeks," said Edward softly. "Not even to roam the grounds."

"They _know,"_ Bella said again. "They know _everything!"_

"How is that possible?" Edward stared, disconcerted, at Bella's plaintive, nervous face. "How did he find out, Bella?"

"He didn't say," she admitted. "He didn't tell me…"

"There is only one way that they could know anything of the sort, Edward," said Emmett at once, and Bella, sensing his bubbling ire, shrank deeper into the shadows. "There is only one possible way that those men could know anything about Rosalie or her child, and that is if someone in this very castle has been feeding information through to the dungeons, right under our very noses."

"A spy?" demanded Edward indignantly. "A spy in my own castle, under _my_ employ?"

Emmett's silence said enough.

"Round up your soldiers, Emmett," said Edward at once. "Every last one. Bring them to the courtyard at dawn. I will root out the source of this betrayal and believe me—I will not rest until it is done."

* * *

The stranger would not, under any coercion, prying, or pleading, speak another sensible word to Bella or any of the other guards who attended him in cell 19 of the King's royal dungeons.

Thrice Bella met him, and thrice she was rebuffed. For three days she had gone down to the dungeon, accompanied by Emmett, or Joro, or sometimes even Ruben—the happy, jubilant young guard who'd identified her at the gates with Rosalie, and who seemed more than happy to chatter away at her while they walked, alleviating some of that dreadful gloom that permeated the dank and cavernous dungeon.

No longer were her meetings held in the guards' private quarters at the end of the long, wide hallway. No longer was she given paper and pencil, or water to drink when she sat with him, asking questions that were never answered and staring into that inscrutable gaze that pierced like daggers in her chest. He watched her constantly—those buggy blue eyes tracked every motion of her body, every twitch and shiver of her face—and she was unnerved by this scrutiny, if unmoved by his taciturn and stubborn silence.

He would say nothing—would _reveal_ nothing—that might aid the King in his earnest and relentless inquisition of the soldiers and castle staff who might, even under the most unlikely of circumstances, have spoken the words that Clemens had revealed three nights prior.

 _Who was the spy?_ The man would not say.

 _Where had he heard the rumours?_ The man would not reply.

 _Why had he told Bella such stories?_

 _What had he gained from the telling?_

 _How had word travelled?_

 _Where was the culprit now?_

Silence, silence, and more infernal, deafening silence.

The stool beneath her was hard and uncomfortable. Her arms, resting on the rusted, iron bars of the cell, were cold and cramped. Her skirts, dragging in a murky puddle of water in the trench beside the cell door, was stinking and damp and her hair, escaping its neat plait, hung over her cheeks, looking for all the world, Bella thought, as greasy and dishevelled as his.

She asked him questions in English. She repeated them in Maronese. She even spat Spanish at him—what little she could recall from high school—but neither the familiar tongues nor the new were in any way provoking to him. He chose instead to stare, his mouth agape like some infernal, devilish idiot, looking for all the world as if he were not only _unwilling_ to speak, but incapable and infirm.

"Who sent you to Terosankta?"

Silence.

"Why do you seek the woman and her child?"

Not a word.

"Who are you really?"

He sneered at her, but said nothing.

"Are you _dumb?"_ she demanded hotly, "or simply stupid?"

He made a grotesque face—a mocking, obscene mask—and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"Stupid, I suppose," he drawled greasily. "If it pleases My Lady…"

Bella felt her face pale in anger and her nostrils flared, her temper rising like mercury as she bit back an urge to hit him.

"What do you want with Rosalie?" she demanded, giving up all pretense. "What do you want with _Finn?"_

"Master wants and master gets…" chuckled the man dryly. "I am a _soldier,_ Madam. I do as I'm told."

"And I'm _telling you_ to _tell me,"_ she growled. "Tell me who's been sneaking you stories."

The man pressed his lips together, eyes dancing with glee.

"Why are you doing this?"

He beamed at her, rotting teeth on display through the curtain of shaggy black hair.

"Because I can," he said. "Because I _want_ to. Because it amuses me to see you so worked up—and because I _know_ how badly _you_ want to know!"

Bella's temper snapped and she rose, knocking her stool over with a clatter on the stone. Her guard, Ruben, looked up in alarm, staring suspiciously at the man he could not understand. With a loyalty that Bella had no right to expect from this near stranger, he slammed his spear against the bars to drive the creature back. Bella felt a perverse pleasure when he scampered away, more fearful of the weapon than anything else, burrowing in his pallet of hay and blankets with a flashing, venomous glare that made his eyes glow hot.

"Take me up," she said darkly. The man in the cell, whose bound hands were tapping rhythmically on his bent knees, sneered foolishly at her once the spear was put away. "He won't say a thing to me now."

The sneer grew wider.

"Yes, Ma'am," said Ruben, glancing at the prisoner with some distaste. "Yes, as you wish…"

She followed Ruben back to the realm of light, and of fresh air. The trek was quick—this cell was not five minutes from the entrance and Bella, having lost some of her distaste for the empty, mouldering cells, no longer shuddered to walk by them.

She followed behind the diligent Ruben with a face so sour and taciturn that even he, a cheerful and jolly youth, could do nothing to alleviate her suffering.

"Do not let him bother you, My Lady," he advised upon seeing her darkened countenance. "Do not let him _aggravate_ you so."

"I can't help it," she growled, frustrated. "He irks me."

"Aye, I know it," he said with sympathy. "He irks me too, but he is so far below either one of us that we really should pay him no mind."

"I can't help it, Ruben," she replied. "I can't _help_ but feel angry… to be so _useless_ is an such an utter failure."

"You are _far_ from useless," said Ruben seriously. "So far, in fact, that I'd put money on it."

Despite herself, Bella laughed.

"Don't waste your pay," she warned. "My _only_ useful deed has been to extract that precious little tidbit from that uncivilized creature in the cell. What he told me is shocking, I know, but it is of no use to anyone if we cannot figure out its source."

"I know, My Lady." Ruben sighed and it echoed off the walls like a serpentine hiss. "I _know._ But that _little tidbit,_ as you call it, has been invaluable in the pursuit."

Bella grimaced silently, thoroughly surly and unpleasant, and said nothing more.

They emerged into the grounds in a halo of overcast light and clouds. The sky was white with them—not the dark, ominous grey of storm, but the bright, vivid white of drizzle or mist. The light shocked her eyes—after the darkness of the cells, to which she had grown accustomed, this brightness seemed aggravating. She blinked away the spots, shielding her eyes from the worst of the light, and had just made up her mind to sneak her way into the kitchens for a bite when she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice at her ear.

"Any news, Bella?"

Startled and blind, Bella yelped and wheeled, nearly knocking poor Ruben into the dirt. The guard grunted when she hit him, her elbow connecting with the soft flesh of his middle, but he caught her up at once and snapped towards the threat, which held up its hands in apologetic regret. Ruben, upon realizing who it was, dropped to a bow at once, and did not rise until Edward, with a rueful smile, bade him stand.

"Sorry," he muttered wryly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You scared me half to _death,_ " she accused sourly. "Where did you _come_ from?"

An explanation, which might have been easily spoken, was provided instead by his outstretched hand. Bella glanced down at it with some confusion but she felt her surliness freeze at once when she saw that it held a parcel, wrapped and tied in a cloth napkin from the kitchen. She knew it as soon as she smelled it—a sweet sugar bun, drizzled in honey and laced with cinnamon. It was a particular favourite of hers from the castle kitchens and a singular specialty of Lessie's, Edward's cook. Her cheeks turned pink when he handed it to her, still steaming through the cloth, and she held its warmth to her nose, breathing in the yeasty, sweet smell.

She apologized in a murmur, feeling sorry for her temper, but he waved her off at once.

"No matter," he said, offering her his arm. "You missed breakfast."

Bella said nothing.

They walked together for some moments, each silent and contemplative as Bella, feeling ravenous, unwrapped the honey bun. It glistened with sweetness, dripping down onto her hand and she took a bite at once, fighting the urge to groan when she tasted it.

The King watched her with undisguised amusement, chuckling when she licked some honey from her fingers.

"Sweet tooth," he teased, drawing her a little nearer. "You'll be a nightmare at festivals, I'm sure of it. You'll buy out the baking stalls!"

Bella grinned sheepishly.

"Were you with the man again?" he asked gently after Bella had taken another bite. She nodded quickly. "Did he say anything?"

Irritation, though not as poignant as before, rose in her belly once again.

"Not a _peep,"_ she complained. "Not one word of any _sense."_

"He's said nothing of note?" Edward prodded. "Nothing that might… help?"

"Not a _thing,"_ she said. Her face contorted into frustrated discontent and Edward, catching on at once, squeezed her arm in sympathy. "He just _stares_ at me, Edward, and replies with such _nonsense…_ it makes me so unsettled, and so _angry."_

"Ah, Bella," he sighed softly. "I wish you wouldn't get so worked up."

"How can I not?" She brought another bite to her mouth, savouring the sweetness. "It's the _only_ useful thing I've been able to do, and now, even _that_ has become useless."

"You are useful in more ways than one," said Edward and Bella, hearing Ruben's similar reply in her head, grimaced. "You have done this whole Kingdom a great service by agreeing to speak with that cretin in the first place."

"And he's said _nothing_ of note."

"He's said _plenty,"_ countered Edward. "Thanks to you, we know that there is a leak in my castle. We know that there is a spy, and that someone very close to me and my own is sharing secrets with my enemies."

"But we don't know _which_ person, nor do we know _all_ the secrets they've told."

"Not _yet,"_ he agreed, "but we _will._ These things take time. Even I—impatient scoundrel though I may be—know it."

"I'm _impatient,"_ she admitted, toying with the string from the napkin. _"Very_ impatient, and I want to be _useful."_

"Then keep on as you are," he advised. "Keep talking to him, if you can. You might wear him down yet, or maybe not, but the _effort_ is all that matters."

"He speaks such _nonsense,"_ she complained. "Such foolish _nonsense…"_

"Aye, as most madmen do," agreed Edward gently. "And make no mistake—that creature _is_ mad, though he may appear otherwise."

"How so?"

"Any man who seeks such revenge on a woman and child they do not know _must_ be mad," he reasoned. "What man in his right mind would try and take a woman, by force, and return her to a violent husband?"

"One who believes in her inferiority," said Bella promptly. "Someone who thinks she _deserves_ what she gets."

"Aye, and in short, I call him a madman," quipped Edward. "Absolutely and unequivocally mad. But thanks to him we know of their scheme, and will be better prepared to meet that danger when it comes."

She felt her cheeks go pale and she stopped their walk, turning to him in dismay.

"Do you think there _is_ a danger?" she asked quietly. "Are the west _really_ a threat?"

"A threat?" he asked softly. "Absolutely. An immediate _danger?_ I think not."

Bella waited, frowning, for an explanation.

"I've spoken with the Council and I've spoken with my Uncle," he continued. "Two very good sources that I trust implicitly. The Council and Carlisle both agree that while the West is bound to retaliate if they know that we've sheltered their wife and heir, that they are very unlikely to do it with any haste."

"How can you be sure?"

"They've got no resources," said Edward simply and they continued their walking. "They've got absolutely nothing to sustain themselves. They sacked the Hollow Lands—the herbalist's family was one of many that were killed and the rest have packed up and moved away out of fear. There are no more farms to raid, no more livestock to steal… only trees to cut and some fields, which have since grown wild, to harvest."

"And what stops them from coming further East?" she said with worry. "What stops them coming for the farms, or the villages?"

"Soldiers," said Edward easily. "My men are everywhere this side of the mountains. Each district has a retinue for their own protection, and the minute I hear of any further threats you can rest assured that those numbers will be increased."

Bella felt some of her worry ease.

"This spy, Bella, is a serious matter," continued the King. "It bothers me greatly to think it true—to think that one of my own could be so two-faced, so _traitorous."_

The word sounded like a curse and Bella, taken aback by his sudden vehemence, said nothing at all.

"But there is no immediate _threat,_ " he continued. "I will find the mole—yes, indeed, I shall—but there is no use in fretting unnecessarily about what might be. We will figure out the leak and seal it tight, but until we do, we must simply take precautions."

"Precautions?"

"Yes," said Edward. "Absolutely."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean taking care," he said. "Those who have employment in the castle will no longer be privy to my private quarters or chambers, excepting those servants who've been vetted and approved by me."

"You'll fire them?"

"No," said Edward gently. "That would be cruel indeed, and a great trial to those families who depend on the income. No. I will fire no one until I find the spy, or until I have a reasonable suspicion of who it might be. I simply mean that my servants will be kept at arm's length, when, until now, I've welcomed many and all into my fold with ease."

Bella sighed heavily.

"It means that my footmen and butlers will be few," he continued. "The maids will perform household duties, but will not be privy to my private quarters."

"For how long?"

"For however long it takes for me to question the group," said Edward. "As long as it takes before I know who is sneaking information to the dungeons, and how, exactly that information is making its way West. I know, almost for certain, that it is not one of the soldiers, so it must, therefore, be one of my staff."

Bella nodded her agreement, thinking over this plan with careful consideration as she recalled, in vivid detail, just how the King knew the soldiers were innocent.

The interrogation of the men had lasted almost two full days. Bella had watched the proceedings like a ghost, ever the King's shadow as he brought man after man to kneel before the throne, to swear his fealty, and to tell, to the best of his knowledge, of any wrongdoing or suspicion of his fellows in the ranks. Edward had interviewed knights, and soldiers, and even Emmett, who was undoubtedly blameless in the entirety of the affair, but who had to be interviewed in the name of thoroughness alone. He'd asked after interlopers or instigators, and breaches in protocol. He'd asked whether there had been an error—even the _slightest_ error _—_ that could have let slip any of the information that the prisoner had told Bella in his haughty and fleeting bid for favour. Edward wanted to know whether anyone spoke, on the the job or off, about the business of the newcomer and her child in the castle. Had anyone noticed anything strange or suspicious? Had there been talk among the men, prompted perhaps by the woman's beauty, to rouse any salacious rumour or gossip?

Bella had heard with her own ears the verdict of this unmovable and aggressive inquisition. She'd heard everyone, from the lowliest foot soldier to the Commander himself, reveal the same and utterly irrefutable truth, though it did nothing to ease her anxiety or lessen her nerves.

The men knew nothing of a mole in their ranks, knew nothing of any person or thing that might have acted as it shouldn't have. They knew nothing of the woman—indeed, only Emmett and the few Kingsguards who had been appointed to watch her knew anything of significance, and those who spoke of her at all spoke only of her beauty, and her novelty.

No one said a thing about the West. No one said, even in whispers, that they suspected Rosalie to be anything other than what she'd been professed—a widow, lately moved to the city for protection after the death of her husband in the Hollow Lands. Her son, they said, was this man's child. The father of the babe in her belly, they could not name.

 _But still,_ Bella thought, _this lack of progress was maddening._ She wanted to _know_ , if nothing else, just _who_ was making her friend's life such a misery and _why_ , in God's name, they would show such impunity for the happiness of harmless strangers. _Why_ was this sneak—this terrible and underhanded betrayer—so bound and determined to make others unhappy? Why would they endanger the entirety of Edward's kingdom—every man, woman, and child in the realm—with the threat of war from a volatile and angry enemy? What did they have to gain? What had the western leaders, Jamos and Rojce, promised this traitor in return for their knowledge? What lies had they produced to make such reward even _possible?_

"Put it out of your mind, Bella, I beg you," said Edward gently and Bella, feeling her pallor turn to flush, felt a prickle of embarrassment. Edward was watching her with concern, his eyes soft and gentle as he gazed upon her worried face. "I don't wish you to be troubled. Trust me when I say that all is well."

"I want to know _who,_ and I want to know _why,"_ said Bella quietly, her brooding anger subsiding only slightly. "I _love_ Rosalie, and it does me a great sadness to know that someone—a stranger, most likely—is so keen to see her destroyed."

"It is a threat to us all, not just Rosalie," said Edward, "and I understand your anger, but I must ask you to put it aside, for there is nothing more that you can do."

"I want to _help,"_ she insisted. "I want to be _useful."_

"You _are_ useful," he returned. "You got us the tip. Now let us—my soldiers, my Commander, and myself—act upon that tip to make sure that you and everyone else are safe."

A bitter seed was planted within her—that hot and angry piece of her that demanded to know _why_ and _who—_ but she was able to force it back, to swallow it down with the last of her sweet bun where it simmered, but did not flare, in the pit of her belly.

"I'll _try,"_ she said slowly, though she felt the threat of betrayal at the back of her throat. "I promise I'll _try._ I'm sorry if I'm being obstinate."

Edward laughed at her and Bella, despite herself, chuckled back.

"I'd expect nothing less," teased Edward. "Absolutely nothing else from you, the very Queen of Obstinacy."

Bella flushed pink.

"My mother always called me a stubborn goose," she joked. "Always headstrong and always determined."

"It is an admirable thing to have," he soothed. "And a very strong quality. I'll take stubbornness over placidity any day. It is far more interesting to have a determined and headstrong comrade than one who is agreeable and mindless."

Bella, though saying nothing more on the subject, found that she quite agreed. They walked on in silence for a moment longer, moving slowly towards the castle doors before Edward, hedging and nervous, spoke again.

"Would you despise me," Edward wondered, "if I asked you to endure yet _another_ surprise?"

Bella, astonished enough by the statement itself, turned suspiciously towards him.

"What sort of surprise?" she asked slowly. "You've given me _more_ than enough."

"A _good_ surprise, I promise," he assured. "And a compliment to the first, which I think you've enjoyed?"

"Yes," she said at once. "I _have_ enjoyed it. It is more lovely than I thought it would be."

"Marta did well?"

"Extremely," said Bella. "Everything is just right."

"I'm glad of it," he said warmly. "I told her to spare no trouble."

"And I think she did _not,_ " said Bella with a laugh. "It was lovely before, and it is lovelier still for its improvements."

"It was shut up too long, you know," said Edward sadly. "After my mother died, no one used it until you."

Bella felt a keen sympathy that made her squeeze his hand.

"Thank you again," she said. "It is a lovely space."

"I'm glad to have it used again."

That surprise, which Edward had been so keen to give her, had come unexpectedly just the night before, when they had been seated together at the supper table in the King's private rooms. They had been in the midst of a lively conversation when they had been interrupted by a timid knock on the door, surprising both him and her with its suddenness and unexpectedness. When Edward had opened it, all curious surprise and courtesy, it had been to admit Marta, who had bowed to both him and her and declared, with some pride and satisfaction, that if it pleased His Grace, the Lady's chamber was finally ready to receive its mistress.

Bella had left the King's chambers with mingled joy and sorrow, glad to have a space to call her own but sorry, in more ways than one, to leave her company behind. Her joy, however, had risen exponentially when she'd been allowed entry into the chamber, stepping through the familiar doorway with a startled and unexpected wonder that gave her reason to pause.

The chamber, as familiar to her as the King's own rooms, was a space entirely changed. The antechamber, which had been filled with antique furniture covered with cloths, and austere, plain décor had been transformed into a veritable women's sanctuary. The hearth, blackened and disused, had been scoured and loaded with wood and timbre. The fire, crackling merrily, drew the moisture from the air and made the room, while warm, pleasant and amiable. Windows had been scrubbed to a sparkling shine inside and out, and floors had been waxed and polished. Walls, which had been dusty and greying, were wiped clean of their disuse and the furniture—polished, dusted, aired, and mended—had been set about the circular room with chairs before the fire, a seat beneath the window, a desk along the rear wall and a screen—the only piece that Bella hadn't seen before—for dressing and bathing. The wooden tub she'd used that first night in the King's chambers rested beneath a frosted window in the corner with towels and sheets aplenty—a gift which was, the King told her, for her own personal use whenever she felt so inclined.

That had been his surprise for her—that beautiful Lady's chamber, where she could have space and room of her own, and where she was, for all intents and purposes, the mistress of her own abode.

The bed, it was true, was lonesome, but it was warm, and soft, and cozy. The rooms, while empty, were comforting in their solitude, allowing her space to sit and think. Last night had been the first that she'd slept there since departing it some weeks prior, and she'd been so unnerved by the quiet and stillness that she'd been forced to keep one of her new oil lamps lit throughout the night to stave off her childish fears. The night had been a disgruntling mix of wonder and nerves as she was so unused to being alone, and yet she'd been so desperately, gloriously happy that she'd been thought worthy of such a delightful space that she could not help but revel in it.

"There is a new surprise," said Edward again, "and one that I hope will make you glad. It is as much my brother's doing as mine, and I know he will be happy to see your response."

"Jasper?" Bella asked curiously. "What could he want to give me?"

Edward laughed outright and Bella, despite herself, chuckled as well.

"He'd give you the moon if you asked for it," said Edward derisively. "He is completely and utterly enamoured with you. You've got a servant for life in that boy, I think, and he'll love you until the end of time if you let him."

"I can't fathom _why,_ " she replied, bemused. "I've done nothing to earn it."

"You were kind to him when few others were," said Edward sadly. "Kindness goes a long way, especially for a grieving child."

Bella's heart ached at the thought.

"Esme, Carlisle, and I were kind too, of course," said Edward, "but there is a different sort of kindness that comes from a parent. After our parents died, I was both mother and father to him, and a poor replacement for either. Esme, too, became a sort of mother and Carlisle, bless him, is a father to everyone he meets."

Bella grinned at these astute descriptions, which gave her a pang of longing to see them again.

"You were just _kind,"_ he said. "You don't mother him and you don't coddle him. You gave him something to _care_ for when you were ill, and you've shown him such _patience_ , even when he is completely undeserving of it."

"But what could he possibly want to _give_ me?" Bella wondered out loud. "I can think of nothing I've asked for."

"You haven't asked for it," said Edward quickly. They crossed the threshold of the castle doors and strode, slow and easy, towards the tower that would lead to her newly restored bedchamber. "You've not asked _me_ for _anything."_

"Then why should I _receive_ anything?" she asked. "What could I possibly need that I don't already have?"

" _You_ didn't ask for _it_ , but _it_ asked for _you."_

This confused her all the more and she stared, frowning, at the side of his face.

"Tell me," she asked, following him through the hall. "What do you mean?"

"Come and see," he said with a smile. "Come and tell me what you think, and if you swear to me that you do not want to have it, then you have my word that you will not be forced to endure it."

He led her towards that familiar tower that would lead to the blue rooms and she followed him willingly, her frustration with the prisoner, for the time being, abated. They climbed the stairs in silent comfort, her hand still held tightly in his, and when they reached the door to the antechamber, he bowed politely and let her step forward, reaching for the knob on the door that no longer creaked as it swung in.

She felt a shock—a delightful and giddy shock—that made her heart race and her eyes well up as she saw the creature that lay within. Before she could so much as speak she felt the tight embrace of thin, girlish arms about her waist. Bella took in the sight of her with amazement, her hands coming up to pat her back and smooth her long, black plait still tied, Bella saw, with the same bright red ribbon that she'd had the very first time they'd met.

"Oh My Lady!" cried the child with relish. The girl squeezed her impulsively. "I'm _so_ glad you've come back safe!"

"Alice!" gasped Bella in astonishment, and the child, giddy with the delight of her recognition, giggled into Bella's chest. "Alice, where on _earth_ have you been?!"

"Oh, here and there," said the girl breezily, pulling away to look Bella in the face. Those grey eyes, so wide and bright, watched her with a vivacity and joy that nearly overtook her. "I've been here, at the castle, and back home, at the orphanage…"

The very word made Bella's heart ache and she turned to Edward with wonder, feeling for all the world as if she should grovel at his feet.

"A good surprise, no?" he asked wryly, leaning back against the door. Bella nodded profusely, her arms reaching out to pull the little thing back to her with joy, pressing a firm and sound kiss to the crown of the child's head. The motion seemed to startle the girl—she jumped slightly when she felt Bella's lips—but she did not shy away, melting into the embrace with a happy little sigh that made her head rest on Bella's shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed.

What a poor, unloved little thing this girl must be, living in an orphanage without a family to care for her.

Bella thought that she understood, even just a little, how Alice might feel.

"Thank you," said Bella earnestly, glancing between Alice and Edward with bewilderment. "What on _earth_ possessed you to do it?"

Edward laughed, delighted by her response, and shrugged.

"I knew you'd need a maid," said Edward easily, "for these rooms are too solitary and lonesome to be enjoyed on one's own. It is only right that you should have one—most Ladies do—and I could hardly assign you one from my current stock… not without a thorough vetting, anyhow, and that could take weeks."

Bella squished the child even more tightly to her breast.

"Jasper was the one who suggested her," said Edward gently. "He overheard my talk with Esme—I'd planned on finding you someone good and reputable—and Jasper told me that you might like Alice back. You and she got on before you left, despite your _challenges,_ and he told me that she would be more than willing to come back to you."

"Did he?" Bella asked in amazement. The child, beaming up tearfully at her, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She stepped back and nodded, corroborating this fact most earnestly, and spoke for herself.

"He often comes to visit," she said quickly. "He is a great playmate with the boys there."

"I didn't know…"

"Nor did I," admitted Edward wryly. "But it is not an objectionable pastime. Go on, child."

"He and I talked when he visited," she continued. "He told me of you, My Lady, and where you were. And I asked him _ever_ so many questions."

"Was he kind?"

"Oh yes." The child blushed pink and Bella, endeared to the very end, felt soft and indulgent. _"Very_ kind. He told me all about your time here."

"I had wondered where you went," said Bella, "though I didn't dare ask. I thought you _left_ , Alice."

"I _had_ to," said Alice quickly, "for there was no one else for me to serve here. There are maids enough already, and I've no great skill at cleaning."

Edward chuckled.

"She'll be paid this time." He winked at the girl and she, still nervous of his stature and sword, went red in the face. "Paid as a lady's maid, too, which is no mean salary."

The child turned to Bella with sincerity.

"I will do my very best to be a _good_ maid," she said at once. "I've never done it before, but I…"

"You will do just fine," said Bella, putting any fears to bed at once. "I'm very glad to have you back, sweetheart."

The child, beaming happily at this praise, was more than willing to sink back into the shadows when Bella, overcome by glad appreciation, embraced Edward with a tight and fervent ardor.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice low in his ear. His arms were tight around her, his chin atop her head. "Thank you _very_ much."

"I don't want you to be lonely," said Edward in response. "It wouldn't sit well with me to evict you from my presence and banish you to solitude. You _must_ be removed from me at night—it is only proper, now that other, more _suitable_ arrangements have been made, but that does not mean you must suffer here alone."

" _Suffer,_ " snorted Bella in derision. "Only a fool could suffer here, in rooms such as these. But she is _lovely_ , Edward," she insisted. "The best _possible_ choice."

"You'll have to thank my brother."

"Oh, I will." Bella pulled back with a beam. "Believe me, sir. When I find him, I will."

"She will have the room off the antechamber," said Edward gently. "The door beside the fire leads to the maid's quarters. I've had Marta air it, too, for I knew that you'd have someone coming in to sit with you soon enough."

"She will sleep with _me,_ " said Bella at once, knowing for a fact that the maid's chamber was, while suitable and proper, not nearly as comfortable as the main bedroom with the overlarge bed. "If she wants to. I will never forget her first kindness to me, even in the face of my suspicion and sorrow when I first awoke in that room all those months ago."

"Such a different creature you were then," said Edward with a laugh. "Such a markedly _different_ thing altogether."

"As were _you,_ Edward," said Bella in a whisper. "As were _you_ , when you came to feed me fruit."

"Ah, the fruit," he chuckled. "That was a fun game, no?"

"For you, maybe," she replied. "I was just _hungry."_

"And my uncle scolded me terribly," he recalled. "You were not _quite_ fit for solid foods, he told me, but alas, there was no harm done."

The child, still lingering in the corner, gave her a grin when Bella met her gaze.

"A better surprise than this, Edward, you could have never given. I will thank you a million times over before the day is out."

"Then we shan't have time for lunch," he protested. "And I must tell you, Madam, that I will _not_ be kept from _that."_

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience! As I've mentioned before, my job as a supply teacher is back in play since the summer break is over, and I've had quite a bit of work even though it's still early in the school year! I hope we're all glad to see Alice back again—many of you had questions about where she went and if/when she would be back, and I'm very happy to say that she's returned! I think I've missed her almost as much as all of you. She gave me a bit of trouble this chapter—she didn't quite know how she wanted to make her big return, and it took a tries before we got it right.**

 **As always, let me know what you think! I'm always eager to hear from you. Stay tuned for the next chapter, which will hopefully be out within the week!**

 **Also, best place for writing updates is on my Twitter ( Moonchild_707). If you want to know where a chapter is, or you have a question that you want answered, that is probably the best way to get ahold of me. You'll know when new chapters are up, and where I am with my writing if a chapter is late or troublesome.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

In the echoing council chamber atop her high, cushioned chair, Bella listened in bewildered silence as the table roared with noise.

"We must act _now!"_ boomed Nelsor, his face red with anger. "We must act _immediately,_ Sire, and squash it out once and for all!"

"We know not who!" cried Lorenzo. "We know not _where!"_

" _Some of us,"_ interrupted Nelsor with ire, "have taken precautions! Some of us have _started!"_

"Your district is half of what mine is!" Lorenzo snapped angrily. "What would you have me do, Nelsor? Interrogate them all?"

"Aye, and more!" cried Nelsor. Edward, with quick and serious worry, snapped his head around to survey the old man. "I've done _twice_ what you have!"

"I will _not_ use cruelty!" protested Lorenzo. "It is not _sanctioned!"_

"In times of need…"

"Cruelty will _never_ be sanctioned," Edward cut in with curt warning. "I desire to know, Nelsor… what do you mean you _interrogated?"_

"Ah… just that, My King!" The old man dipped a quick, shaky bow to Edward. "Just as I said!"

"We do not _extract_ , Nelsor," said Ramos sharply and Edward, in a sudden flare of anxiety, turned towards the speaker. "We do not _probe!"_

"Asking questions is illegal now, is it!?" Nelsor wheeled on Ramos with more fury than Bella might have expected and she flinched, her fingers tightening on the arm of her chair. "It is not _lawful_ to inquire after the safety of my own people?"

"Aye, inquire away!" spat burly Toro. "But do not presume to _sway…"_

"What do you mean you _interrogated?"_ cut in Edward again. His green eyes, alight with concern, were fixed upon his oldest Councillor. The table fell into a hush when he held up his hand for silence and Nelsor, jowls quivering, slammed his gnarled hand upon the table.

"I mean I asked questions and my people answered!" he shouted. "I mean that I _inquired_ after the nature of these heinous and dangerous rumours, and my people did not disappoint!"

"Did not disappoint?" Edward demanded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that they _answered me!"_ Nelsor slammed his hand down again and Bella, startled by the noise, jumped back. "I mean just what I say, Sire!"

"Torture is not sanctioned!" cried Lorenzo, and the table erupted once more.

"I do not _torture,_ you sodden fool! When have you _ever_ heard of torture in the north!?"

"Sire, I beg for reason!"

"Nelsor, sit _down!"_

"We northerners are not like _you!_ _My_ people do not live in squalor!"

"Nelsor, enough!"

"I do what is right for _my people!"_

"You lazy fool!"

"Order!"

"We are tough!"

"Oh _please!"_

"We are _hardy!"_

" _Order!"_

"We are…"

"ENOUGH!"

The shout, so close to Bella's ear, made her gasp in sudden surprise. Edward, his cheeks red and his eyes bright, stared down so forcibly at the squabbling men that they each fell silent in turn, though their faces remained bright with anger.

"That is _enough."_ The words were low and gravelly. "You forget yourselves, gentlemen."

He glanced at Bella, who looked quickly away. The men, trained on him, followed his gaze to her and one by one, without a word, they took their seats and sighed, looking shameful.

"Such goings on," Edward said lowly. "I declare… I've never heard the like."

"We cannot sanction torture, My Lord," said Lorenzo in low, careful tones. Bella almost heard the collective groan around the table. "We cannot sanction… unfavourable techniques."

"There was _no torture!"_ growled Nelsor, incensed. "Not so much as a _hint_ of it!"

"Then how did you get them to speak!?"

"I asked and they complied!" replied Nelsor. "Unlike _yours,_ Lorenzo, my district recognizes its leader when they see him."

Lorenzo's face went pale and Bella, feeling a sudden electric pulse, saw the latter rise up from his seat.

"I do _not_ reign like a tyrant," spat Lorenzo, "and I do _not_ rule in anger!"

"Anger?" Nelsor replied, so shocked that he laughed. "Anger, Lorenzo? When have you ever seen me _angry?"_

Lorenzo blinked at him with a scowl.

"You insult this council when you suggest supremacy," said Lorenzo. "What makes your district better than any of the others?"

Nelsor said nothing.

"You are _not,"_ he continued angrily. "Yours is no better than mine, or any other's."

"I didn't say it was."

"You didn't _have_ to."

"Enough." Edward held up his hand again and Lorenzo, looking mutinous and unusually prideful, sat down with some difficulty. Edward waited until the noise had died again before he continued.

"This talk is neither productive nor helpful," said Edward with a stern mask of reproach. His councillors wisely said nothing. "This kind of discourse does not _help_ us solve the problem at hand…"

"Forgive me, Sire, but there would _be_ no problem if _some_ of us would only _try!"_ said Nelsor. "If we would only just _ask…"_

"Have you _any_ idea the problems we face in the east?" demanded Lorenzo with heated fury. "Have you the _slightest_ inkling?"

"Oh, and the north is peanuts, is it!?" Nelsor's colour rose again. "All sunshine and rainbows?"

"I've got over two thousand people in my district _alone!"_ snapped Lorenzo. "Two thousand people, some piled so densely atop one another that there is hardly room to _breathe,_ much less _live…"_

"Aye, and I've got hundreds of my own!" Nelsor banged his stick on the floor. "Hundreds of fishermen, and hundreds of wives, and acres upon acres of land to care for…"

"The north is _not_ the city!" cried Lorenzo in exasperation. "The north is _not_ the town!"

"No, and praise the Gods for that!" Nelsor threw himself back in his seat with a growl. "Praise every God I know, for this politicking will be the end of me!"

Lorenzo, white-lipped and surly, fought back a snarl.

"Sit down, both of you." Both men, half-risen from their seats, obeyed at once. Nelsor's breathing was heavy and his face was still an alarming shade of puce, and Bella felt a sudden pang of worry for the old man.

Edward waited for calm before he continued on.

"Tell me once and for all so we can be done with it, Nelsor," he sighed. "What do you mean when you say you _interrogated?"_

The murmur around the table made Bella frown. The word seemed curiously provocative.

"Just this, Sire… I asked, and my people told."

Lorenzo scoffed but was silenced at once by a stern glare from his King.

"And you obtained this information lawfully?"

"Of course."

"Was anyone resistant?"

"No more than usual, sire," said Nelsor. "In the _north,"_ he glared pointedly at Lorenzo, "the people still have some respect for their leaders."

The table rumbled unpleasantly but Edward, finally losing his patience, let out an irritated growl.

" _Enough!"_ he hissed for what Bella knew to be the final time. His face was mottled, now—pale and blotchy with rising heat—and the men fell silent at once with only slight consternation, each looking askance at the table, or his plate, or the door.

"Then, if there are no further objections, we will move on."

The table was brimming with unspoken commentary—Bella knew it easily, and she knew it well—but not one of the men dared to speak. Edward sipped from his goblet of wine—a move which Bella knew would put an end to the subject—and the men followed suit before they turned to their King with guarded inquiry.

"Now then," said Edward, glancing only momentarily at Bella. His face was tired—drawn, pale, and coarse with stubble—and he looked so apologetic that she had to look away, blushing.

"Are there any other concerns to bring forth?" asked Edward. "Any other concerns that are _not_ about the spy?"

The table rumbled for a moment, though no one raised a hand.

 _The spy,_ Bella thought resentfully. _What a trying and tedious conundrum._

Since the day Bella had left the dungeon for the final time two weeks ago, there had been neither word nor clue to be told about the supposed spy in the castle keep. The prisoner had gone silent. The castle had been searched. Word had gotten out, though Bella knew not how, and though it had started in the towns, a plague of suspicion and worry had quickly run its course through the entirety of the city before moving on to the farms and the fisheries. Fantastical stories had reached all different corners of the realm, each as uncertain and implausible as the next.

"The spy is a maid," one would say, "lurking in the Lady's chambers. She sneaks in while the Lady sleeps. She listens at tapestries and darkened doorways when the Lady meets with the King…"

No," posited another, "the spy is a _soldier._ He slips notes to the prisoner and speaks with him in tongues when the other guards sleep. He lives in the East, and he cajoles with our strange neighbours over yonder!"

"Nay, fool, he is of the West! He is a western soldier, come back on the heels of the Lady, when she escaped the demons at Terosankta!"

"She is a vagrant… a woman who sleeps in the dungeon corridor!"

"It is a boy!"

"A girl!"

"My foe!"

"A ghost!"

So many suspects uncovered and yet, not one of them with any particular significance.

A fortnight's worth of rumours had driven Bella mad with curiosity and worry. The very same had transformed Edward into a force of unrelenting inquiry.

The soldiers, rounded up and interviewed, had, over the past two weeks, been re-vetted and screened. Men were interrogated by Emmett and the King. Families and backgrounds were discovered and searched. Footmen, followed by butlers, cooks, and housekeepers, had been called before the King and Council to give their testimony, all of which had revealed nothing. Pageboys had quivered before the stern and solemn eye of their ruler. Maids—some as young as eleven or twelve—had been brought by Marta to give their stories. Parents of children in the castle's retinue were visited in their homes. The orphanage where Alice had spent the last year of her life was scoured and its occupants questioned.

Not a clue had been uncovered, yet not one story had gone untold.

" _It's no use fretting, Bella,"_ Edward had sighed one night by the fire as he watched her pace anxiously from the hearth to the window. _"There is nothing else to do."_

" _It's_ mad!" she'd cried angrily. _"Absolutely mad!"_

" _Put it out of your head, or_ you _will be the one who is driven mad,"_ he'd chided. _"There is nothing more for us to do. We are overturning every stone we can."_

And still, nothing.

The men remained silent. Edward, biting back his displeasure, turned silently towards Ramos, who was sitting as proud as a puffin, looking as if he might burst.

"What is it, Ramos?" sighed Edward. The addressee started and gave a short nod. "You look askance."

"I dare not, my King."

"Please, dare it," retorted Edward dryly. "I desire to move on."

"Alas…"

"You have my permission to speak," sighed the King. _"Even_ if you breach protocol."

The table bristled with interest. Bella knew that once the wine had been drunk, a subject was considered closed to further discussion…

"Should we be _interrogating_ too, My Lord?" asked Ramos gently. "Should the rest of us, like Nelsor, be questioning our people?"

Edward blew out a breath.

"If there is suspicion…"

"Of course, My Lord," cut in Arman, the sweet-faced, gentle Councillor from Honeybee Point in the east. "Of course if we _suspect_ … but what if we do _not?"_

Edward glanced carefully around the table.

"That is your decision," he said finally after a long moment of silence. "I will not tell you how to treat your own people…"

"Is there _any_ news?" asked Arman. "Any news at all that might direct us?"

"You know all," Edward said flatly. "You know as much as I. Emmett, bless him, prepared the report for your perusal, and you know the details as well as I do."

"Aye, aye…" Arman fell silent with a frown on his face. "Aye, Sire."

"But what of the _woman?"_ demanded another councilman, Bralto. _"That_ is the part which makes little sense."

"I agree." Rohailo, who had thus far been silent, spoke up at last. "A mole in the dungeon would be easily explained… a wayward maid, perhaps, out to clean the cells, or a soldier with a grudge."

"The report said…"

"Aye, Lorenzo, I know what the report said," sighed Rohailo. "All maids and guards vetted and accounted for. I know…"

"The castle proper seems clear," Edward agreed. "So I do not know…"

"It is the _woman."_ Rohailo reiterated Bralto's comment. "It is their knowledge of _her_ that baffles."

"People talk," said Edward. "And those who do have plenty to say. She arrived in the east with more fanfare than strictly necessary."

"Did we explain it?" asked Rohailo. "Did we give a _reason_ for her stately arrival?"

"She is a friend of the Lady's," said Lorenzo at once with a deferent little bow to Bella. She continued in her silence. "And so is said to deserve such aplomb."

"But there must be some bitterness," said Rohailo reasonably. "For a stranger to have such a royal retinue when a grounded and rooted citizen of the Eastern City isn't given half so much?"

"My people are kind," said Lorenzo with a slight bristle. "We are _understanding…"_

Rohailo's dark and handsome face scowled at once. He glanced at Edward instead, who watched with a dark impassiveness that made him seem utterly foreboding.

"You understand my mind, sire?" he asked. The King gave a curt nod. "You understand what I'm asking?"

"You're asking of jealousy," said Edward. "You're asking if an easterner might have… spoken out."

"Aye, sire." Rohailo sat back to avoid Lorenzo's piercing glare. "Aye, exactly."

"Not a chance," hissed Lorenzo. "Not a chance in the world…"

"There is _always_ a chance," said Edward sharply and Lorenzo, looking astonished, turned around with reddened cheeks. "There is _always_ a chance of betrayal, no matter how much we might wish it otherwise."

"Sire…"

"Examine your people," Edward said with a sigh. "Rohailo is right. My entire staff and Council were questioned and vetted. Although I prayed that we would not be betrayed, I _knew_ it to be possible."

"Sire…"

Edward held up his hand for peace.

"Follow your leads," said Edward. "Investigate rumours. It might be nothing—in fact, I would venture that the vast majority of what you'll hear will _be_ nothing—but we must be sure."

"Aye, sire…"

"Bring me your findings, in your own time," he finished. "Be they good or ill."

The men raised their goblets, much more readily this time, and Bella watched as each—save Lorenzo, who hesitated—drank readily. Edward watched his councilman, his brows furrowed in annoyance, before the man took the smallest sip of wine, swallowing thickly to force it down.

"Now then." The King stretched his arms and the council, taking his lead, seemed to relax at once. "What other news, My Lords?"

Bella, snatching up her cup from the table, cradled it loosely in her hands as she listened to the other concerns of the Royal Council.

The spy—or lack thereof—had been the top priority for every councillor at the table. The people were frightened of the very possibility—what else had the spy imparted to the enemy, besides a knowledge of the King's private business? The general population did not know about Rosalie—they did not know who she was, or where she had come from—but word had gotten out that the spy knew of the Commander's attachment to her, and her little son. Word had gotten out that the King had subjected his staff and his court to quick and unrelenting questioning, and little pageboys and maids—terrified of the thought of being accused—had gone home for holidays with terrible tales of suspicion and fear.

But, as is the case with any crisis, the world went on with its mundane trials and concerns regardless of any bigger, more serious problems.

Bella listened, trying her best to keep up, as the business of the day was discussed at length.

Arman, the overseer of the honeybees in the east, politely requested more men to harvest the combs. The bees had been fruitful this season, and there was no desire for any honey to go to waste.

Nelsor, praising the King's new boats, wanted an additional day for fish markets in the city, so as not to let their catch spoil before it could reach a table.

The southern watchtower had disciplined two young soldiers for curfew violations. The men would be sent to the city, to muck out the fighting pits as punishment.

The river in the north was high and Bralto wondered if the farms there should not be given bags of sand, in case it breached its banks.

An outbreak of mould along the rocks of the northern coast had destroyed three homes.

There had been five live births in the Farmer's Village that week.

A child had gone missing in the city's west end. He'd been found on a dinghy floating down the river by a group of schoolchildren.

The orphanage needed new fabric for winter clothing.

There was a dispute over cattle in the grasslands.

Was chicken farming legal in the city?

Mightn't it be prudent to cap the price of bread?

Bella listened carefully, taking in as much as she could.

"It is _perfectly_ reasonable for a craftsman to set his own price!" said Bralto. "If a baker cannot set costs, how is he to stay afloat?"

"The poor cannot afford it…"

"That is why the King's coffer is open."

"Aye, but…"

"Is there hunger in my city, Lorenzo?" cut in Edward with concern. "Are your people going without?"

"Not _yet,_ sire, but I fear that they _may_ , should prices continue to rise."

"Then you will send word at once," said Edward. "I'll not let people go hungry on my watch."

"Bakers, too, must earn…"

"Aye, Rohailo." Ramos, the designated scribe for that particular Council session, was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. "Aye. It won't be at their expense…"

"Good, sire…"

Lorenzo nodded.

There was another long pause and Bella, glancing up from her goblet, stared curiously at the King.

"My Lord?"

Hema, soft and gentle, spoke from the far corner.

"Speak up, man." Edward waved him forward. "What is it?"

"I _must_ inquire…"

"Please, do."

"It is nearly spring, Sire."

"Yes…"

"And the Turning will soon be upon us."

The table rumbled and Bella, glancing around with mild curiosity, felt a pique of interest.

"Aye, it will be." Edward spoke with a patient smile. "What of it, sir?"

Hema grinned at him and shook his head.

"There's been no talk of it yet," he ventured, "but I've had questions from more than one source."

"Oh aye? Questions?" the King chuckled to himself. "Of what sort?"

"The people want to know whether there will be a New Year this winter," said Hema and Bella, feeling rather foolish, did not quite understand. "The preparations are usually underway by this time, but there has been no word…"

"No, we've been quite busy," said Edward with a sigh. He glanced over the pert and interested heads of his councilmen. "We've had… plenty to think about."

A murmur of assent went around.

"Still, Sire… the people want to know."

Edward sighed again but this time, Bella saw that he wore a chagrined smile on his face instead of a consternated frown.

"I've no opinion, as you well know," he said diplomatically. "It is not up to the King."

"No," agreed Ramos easily, "but common courtesy would dictate…"

"Aye, aye…" Edward leaned back in his chair. "But as I've said… I've no opinion. What say you, Hema?"

"I vote yes."

"Bralto?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Ramos?"

"Yes."

"Lorenzo?"

"Definitely, sir."

He went around the full length of the table and got a similar response from each, ending with Bella, who frowned.

"What say you, My Lady?" he asked finally, a deep amusement colouring his voice. "Shall we have a King's New Year this winter, or no?"

Bella stared blinkingly at him, her goblet of wine poised at her lips and she shrugged, glancing sheepishly at the table.

"I've no opinion whatsoever," she said delicately. "Whatever the Council decides."

The table laughed.

"Then so be it," said Edward. He drank deeply from his cup, and his councilmen followed suit. "If you decree it so, then there _shall_ be a King's New Year."

"Hear, hear!" The table hooted and Bella felt suddenly shy when Ramos, who was sitting directly opposite her, raised his silver goblet to clink it with hers. He laughed boisterously at her when her face reddened and when he winked, she looked away altogether.

"Methinks, Sire, that you will have to _educate_ the Lady," he chuckled. "We've confused her, I daresay."

"Yes, I quite agree," said Edward. Chairs began to scrape against the floor as the men began to rise. "But it is easily remedied."

"My people, for one, will be glad for the distraction," said Lorenzo piously. "They will be grateful for the change."

"The Easterners always are," replied Edward kindly. "They are… most enthusiastic."

"Yes…" Lorenzo bowed to the King and turned to Bella. "And I hope, My Lady…"

She watched him with curiosity.

"I hope that we might have the pleasure of your company?" he asked politely. "Yours and the King's, of course…"

"Certainly, Lorenzo." Edward dipped his head and Bella, feeling rather foolish, remained still. "You most certainly _will_ have the pleasure of our company. If all is as it was last year, I would not miss your ale for anything in the world!"

Lorenzo, seeming to have forgotten his sour mood from earlier in the meeting, ducked away with a laugh.

* * *

Later on in the day, as they walked through the grass of the castle grounds together, Edward put a question to Bella that made her pause.

"Did you make any sense of what the council said?" he asked. They were walking through the gardens, which were overladen with late fruits and vegetables. Three kitchen maids—small, skinny girls with brown freckles and sun-bleached hair, scrambled around them with bushel baskets. Edward grinned as he watched them—they scuttled nervously around them, bowing twice each time they crossed paths, and gawked, open-mouthed and gleeful, at Bella's arm entwined with his.

"Some of it," Bella said lightly. "I understood about the spy."

He breathed a heavy sigh.

"They are worried," said Edward gently, "and perhaps rightly so. But they do grow quite… aggravating."

"Fear drives us all to haste and imprudence," said Bella sagely. "Even the wisest of us."

"Very true," he agreed. "Very true, sweetheart."

Bella bit the inside of her cheek.

"There is nothing more to be done," said Edward after a long pause, "other than what we do already. The entire castle has been vetted. Nelsor, bless him, has undertaken such a rigorous questioning that I've no doubt word will spread, and before long, the culprit will be rooted out."

Bella frowned, her throat suddenly tight. Edward, feeling how her hand tightened on his arm, paused to watch her.

"Do not worry, Bella," he soothed. "You are safe, so long as you are in my city, and your friend will be safe too. She is quite well, Emmett tells me…"

"Emmett," said Bella with a wry smile. "How much does he know about it?"

Edward grinned.

"More than he ought to, I'll say that much," he chuckled. "More than he has any decent right to."

Bella held her tongue. Edward, catching the amusement in her eye, wrapped an arm about her shoulders.

"They both deserve the utmost happiness," he said, so low that the kitchen maid collecting carrots not three feet away could not make it out. "They both deserve the best."

"Yes."

"So if they make each other happy…"

Bella paused, shielding her eyes as she glanced up at him. The waning sun at his back was bright, and she blinked furiously to clear away the spots.

"It matters not to you that she is…"

He waited patiently for her to finish.

"…married?" she concluded lamely. "Or… claimed?"

Edward stared at her, astonished.

"Rosalie?" he queried quickly. "Married?"

They both stopped now, each staring confusedly at the other.

"She's _pregnant_ Edward," Bella pointed out. "She's got a baby in her belly, and it didn't get there on its own…"

It was _his_ turn to flush and he shook his head, looking curious.

"She's renounced him," said Edward easily. "She's declared her union null and void."

"Yes…"

Edward pulled her quickly down the path, away from the littlest maid who had begun to stare.

"And so she is _not_ married," he said softly, once they were out of earshot.

Bella frowned.

"Her children…"

"What of them?"

"They have a father," she pointed out. "A cruel and violent one, but a father nonetheless…"

"A man forfeits his rights to his children when he lays a hand on his family," said Edward at once. "It is written in the Laws of the Nation."

Bella stopped dead.

"So she…"

"She has declared it null, and so it is," said Edward with a shrug. "Perhaps not on _parchment,_ as would have been the custom had she been married here in the Kingdom, but in _spirit…"_

"Indeed." They left the bower of the garden altogether, walking instead along the wall towards the castle. "Indeed…"

"They are free," said Edward with a smile. "Free as birds, to act as they please…"

"They just met," said Bella dryly. "They hardly know each other."

"Many a happy marriage has come from less," he said. "If that is what they want, then it is their right."

"What of the children?"

"A mother is trusted to choose a good father for her young, should she marry a second time," said Edward. "A man who marries a woman with children does so knowing that _her_ children will become _his."_

Bella chewed on that for a moment.

"It is not simply husbands and wives who are joined by marriage, Bella," said Edward, and he stopped her in her walking, turning her around to face him. He had a very serious look and Bella noticed it at once, her belly writhing with butterflies.

"It is the making of a _family,"_ he said gently. "It is the joining of two families that are already made, as is the case for Rosalie, or the origin of a family that is yet to come. It is a commitment to create beauty together, as one."

"It seems fast," said Bella softly, her mind lingering on her newest friend. "It seems… too quick."

"Love has worked faster miracles than theirs," laughed Edward and Bella, put at ease by his sudden and easy comfort, fell back into stride next to him. "It is mysterious and altogether _strange_ , but we must trust that they will know what's right. Emmett is a good man… if she chooses him, he will do right by her and her children."

"I don't doubt it," she said. Emmett _was_ a good man. "I don't doubt it for a minute."

They walked together in silence for a stretch longer.

"Did you understand _all_ of what the council said?" he continued after they'd walked halfway to the red stone keep. "There was some at the end… I'm not entirely sure you would understand it."

"Not quite," she laughed. "You're not wrong."

"The New Year?"

"Yes."

"It is a celebration," said Edward and he nudged her, soft and tickling, in the ribs with his elbow. She shrank away with a laugh. "It is a… party."

"What kind of party?"

"A… special kind," he hedged softly. "It is a yearly event."

"Is it?"

"It is the anniversary of the coronation," said Edward quickly, "and a celebration of the monarch. It happens at the turning of the seasons… just when winter begins to give way to spring."

"A festival?" she guessed and he grinned, nodding at her.

"Partially," he said. "It is a time of renewal… farmers praise the gods and pray for good spring crops, and the city folk prepare a great feast."

"A feast?"

"All sorts," Edward said with relish. "Breads, fishes, meats, cheeses… fruits from the fields and the coast, honey from the east. A great table, filled to bursting."

Bella's mouth began to water at the thought.

"And it is… customary," continued Edward, "for the _King_ to give a gift."

"A gift?"

"Aye." He shifted his gaze away from her, looking sheepish. "A gift to the people."

"What kind of gift?"

"Whatever is needed," said Edward quietly and Bella, feeling suddenly nervous, felt her heart begin to throb. "Whatever the people require."

"So what _do_ they need?" she asked. He watched her carefully. "What do they _want?"_

"It's been a tiresome few years, sweetheart," he said. "It's been… a challenge."

Bella thought of his parents—of that King and Queen she would never meet—and felt a pang of sympathy. She thought of Jasper, so desperate to grow up yet still tethered to his golden, sunset youth. She thought of Esme and Carlisle, drawn so far from their home to become like parents to their nephews, and she thought of Edward himself, forced into a role for which he'd been raised, but not entirely prepared.

She squeezed his hand in solidarity, her fingers twined tightly with his own.

"Last year I gave coins," said Edward, grinning at the memory. "I gave each person a golden dollar. There is poverty still, even today, though we've made great strides. People ate more than bread and cheese that day… they had cake, and sweetmeats, and fishes, and duck…"

Bella said nothing.

"But this year, it is not physical poverty that drains us," he sighed. "It is not _money_ that is lacking."

"Then what is it?" she asked. "What do you think they need?"

"They need to know that we are _safe_ ," he said. "They need to know that their king is _strong."_

"They _do_ know it," she said loyally. _She_ certainly knew it. "They'd be fools not to…"

He laughed, wrapping his heavy, strong arm about her shoulders. The sunset air was cool, and she leaned into the warmth with a happy sigh.

"They know that I am new," he said. "They know that I am… untried."

"Untried?" The affront in her voice made it sharp and he glanced down at her in mild surprise. "How in the _world_ are _you_ untried?"

"My father…"

"Was not _you,"_ she said quickly. "He was his own man, Edward."

"Be that as it may," he nodded in assent, "there will always be a comparison. The son must always be eclipsed by the father, and so must learn in that shadow until he, himself, is ready to shine. My father's shadow was lost too early, and I fear…"

"There have been younger, stupider Kings than you," said Bella tartly. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I _must_ be hard on myself," replied Edward. "Don't you see? If _I'm_ not, then the door is thrown open for my _people_ to do it."

"They love you."

"Aye, they do. I'm a lucky man."

"They're a lucky _people,"_ she said. "You've done as well as can be expected, given the hand you were dealt."

He chuckled at her then, such an unexpected and tired sound that Bella, ramped up by her devout loyalty to her friend, was forced to pause.

"As well as I _can_ do is not quite good enough, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he drew her close again, "that there are certain… _expectations_ put upon me that I have yet to fulfill, though I've had plenty of time."

"You're the King," she said. "What _possible_ expectations could people have for _you?"_

"I have _two_ jobs, Bella," he said kindly. "Two jobs that I _must_ perform if I'm to be written in the histories as a good and faithful ruler."

Bella waited, her brow furrowed.

"I must rule," he said, ticking off the first item on his finger, "and I must rule well. I must be fair, and just, and lawful…"

"As you are," said Bella at once. "You _are_ those things."

"Yes." He watched her with a curious apprehension. "I _am…"_

"And so what else?" she asked. "What more could they _possibly_ want from you?"

"A King must secure the line."

He spoke it so quietly that Bella, listening most carefully, almost missed it.

"The line?" she asked in confusion. "What do you…?"

Her eyes went wide and she blinked, feeling heat rush into her face.

"Oh."

Edward looked away, worried and amused all at once.

"Yes, _oh,"_ he sighed. _"Oh_ indeed…"

They continued on, Bella digesting this particular bit of information in silence as Edward watched her most carefully for signs of distress.

"I don't mean to be crude," he said finally, looking abashed and rather shame-faced. "It is not _only_ that…"

"So you want to…" The words felt tight and awkward in her throat. "You want to give them… a baby?"

He stopped so suddenly that Bella was tugged back, her arm still wrapped tightly about his. He stared at her in surprise before he barked out a noisy, guttural laugh that made her grin.

"Goodness no, sweetheart." He pulled her close again and chuckled. "Not a _baby…_ no. I'm not so old yet that I need to be worried about _that."_

Bella's cheeks felt hot with embarrassment.

"Well what then?" She raised an eyebrow in challenging inquiry. "What are you talking about, since clearly I've got it wrong?"

"No, you don't," he said and he shook his head as if to clear it. "It's not… you. I'm trying to _tell_ you something, and I'm doing an absolutely _terrible_ job of it."

Bella, frowning, waited for elaboration.

"What I _want_ to tell you, is that I want to give my people the gift of _assurance,_ " he said gently. "I want them to see that their King can fulfill all of his duties, not just the judicial ones."

"I see…"

"Do you?" He wheeled her around with such a sudden and mercurial solemnity that Bella felt jolted. "Do you really, Bella?"

Her words, so quick to rise earlier in the evening, died in her throat.

"I… don't know," she admitted. "I don't…"

"Will you accompany me?" He said finally and Bella felt her breath leave in a rush. "Will you stand beside me in the streets, and be my partner at the table?"

"You… want _me?"_ she asked, feeling so suddenly hot that she ran her chilly fingers over her face. "You want _me_ to go with you?"

"I would have you stand by me," he said, "if you wanted to. I'd not force you, Bella… I'd _never_ force you."

"You want to give the people…"

"I want to give them _you,"_ he said finally and Bella felt a quick and sudden understanding settling over her, like a puzzle piece clicking magically into place. "I want to give them _hope,_ and I want them to know that there is a future for our people."

Her heart hammered in her chest. Delight—free and fantastical delight—warred with a terrible, anxious fear. She did not give herself time to analyze it—did not give herself time to _acknowledge_ it—before she spoke again.

"Why?" she blurted and Edward, taken aback, said nothing. "Why do you want… me?"

"Why _you?"_ he repeated with a laugh and before she could collect herself she felt him—arms tight around her back, heart beating beneath her cheek, and lips at her ear. He held her there for a moment before he spoke, his whiskers tickling her face.

"Because _you,_ " he whispered, "are _exactly_ what my people need."

She held her breath, feeling a curious fluttering in her breast.

"You are lovely, and kind, and gentle, and true… you are everything and anything I could need, but most important of all—you are exactly what I _want."_

Bella felt her breath leave in a quick, harsh rush.

* * *

When Bella returned to her rooms, lightheaded with the revelations of the evening, she could hardly find it in her to say a word to little Alice.

"Are you sick, Miss Bella?" she asked worriedly. "Are you ill?"

"No, Alice…" She brushed the child away. "Just thoughtful. Thank you for your help."

"Did Council upset you?"

"No, sweetheart…"

"Did they say something about the spy?"

Alice, Bella had learned, was indignant and suspicious about the existence of the mole, and had dedicated herself as private sleuth in the pursuit of that mystery person.

"No, Alice." Bella unpinned her hair, letting it fall over the shoulders of her nightdress. "Nothing of the sort."

"Are you… sad?"

"Hardly," Bella laughed. "I am _well,_ darling. Don't fret over me."

The child surveyed her, hands on hips.

"You don't _seem…"_

"I've got a lot to think about, that's all," said Bella gently. "Nothing to trouble yourself over. Go and get ready for bed. It's quite late."

The hearth fire, which was the only source of the light in the room, flickered dully in its grate. Bella was huddled up before it, resting in her nightclothes on the plush rug before the flames with her knees drawn up to her chest. Alice, being the helpful little soul that she was, stood behind her and smoothed out the tangles in her long, dark hair, and now watched her with a look akin to worry, as if she thought that Bella, healed though she was, would crumple to bits if she dared to leave the room.

The candle-clock on the wall, which had been lit just at sunset, showed that three hours had since passed and Bella pointed the child to the bedchamber, where the great, blue monstrosity was waiting.

"Go to sleep, Alice," said Bella. "Go and rest. We'll have an early day tomorrow."

Her face lit up with anticipation.

"Is there _really_ to be a festival this year?" she asked again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Is there _really_ to be a New Year?"

"Yes, child," laughed Bella. "The King has said so. Now go to sleep."

"There is a gift, you know," she said with relish. "I got a whole golden dollar last year…"

"He told me all about it."

She beamed.

"What will he give _this_ time?" she wondered eagerly. "Perhaps _two_ golden dollars?"

"Go to _bed,_ " Bella laughed, waving her away. "I'll not say a thing about it. Go on, now."

The child, bright-eyed and not at all sleepy, scampered off with a grin and a kiss, leaving Bella alone before the dying fire, staring into the bright orange coals at its heart.

 _Would Alice be disappointed when she saw this year's gift?_

She stared down at her trembling hands, clasped around the hem of her white nightdress, and let her forehead rest on her knees. Such a tiring and unexpected day she'd had, and as she stared into the waving, dancing glow of the coals, she felt a rush of exhaustion settling over her like a cloak.

"… _you are exactly what I want."_

The King's words to her ran a loop through her brain and Bella could not, no matter how she tried, dislodge them from her thinking.

" _You are exactly what my people need."_

That giddy, terrifying anticipation returned like a sickness and she pressed her hand to her belly, feeling a queer and queasy ache deep within. The feel of his hands at her back had been wonderful, his fingers gripping hers a delight. The heat of his breath, her still-sensitive skin where his whiskers had brushed her cheek, the feel of his lips, soft and gentle on the crown of her head… it bore testimony to the solemnity of his devotion, the seriousness with which he treated his affection for her…

But still… What on earth was she to make of it?

Bella pondered this in the growing darkness, tucking her feet up beneath the skirt of her nightdress when the chill of the cold, stone floor rose up through the rug beneath her. She pressed her eyes into her legs, letting the sting of the pressure ease away the rampant, quarrelsome thoughts that ran through her head until she could bear it no longer and sighed, her fingers tangled in the ends of her long, combed hair.

He had not said it outright. There had been nothing in his words to say the delightful, yet dreadful thing that she'd feared he might… he had not spoken plainly to her, as to do so would have frightened her silly, and yet, she thought that she understood.

But she could not bring herself to decide just what she wanted.

All her life, Bella had been a solitary being. In the beginning, before she knew what love really was, there had been only her and her mother—two girls alone in the great, wide world. She had cared for her mother—had been devoted to her like a puppy to its master—and though that bond had been severed and cut by the cruelty of time, she felt its ragged remnants still. She felt the pain of that separation, the pain of that _loss_ , and it had been that pain, so freshly felt and keenly cut, that had made her so wary, even now, almost a decade and a half later.

Bella had loved her mother with all her heart. She had learned to love her Uncle Charlie in the years that followed. She loved Jake in her own, friendly way, and she loved her Boomer—that great and snuggly dog she'd raised from a puppy. She loved her friends, and she loved her family, but never, in all her life, had Bella felt anything akin to love for a man like Edward, and she had no idea how to make sense of any of it.

He had not _said_ he loved her. He had not _said_ he needed her. He had not said he wanted to _marry_ her…

And yet, Bella was not so dense to miss the implication of his words, and she was not stupid enough to be blind to his intentions.

She felt a stinging behind her eyes that she pushed away with a furious pride, cursing herself for this weakness, this _uncertainty._

A knock on the door—loud and sudden—made her jump and she leapt to her feet, praying that her eyes had not gone red.

"My Lady?" The guard at her door—a man whose name she had not yet learned—spoke through the wood. "My Lady, a visitor."

"Come in," she called and to her fury, her voice was shaking. She cleared her throat and spoke again. "Come in, please…"

The door latched loosened and she heard the creak of the hinges as the door swung in. The landing outside, lit by a bright torch in the sconce by the window, let a pool of yellow light spill over the floor and cast a halo around her visitor, who snuck in as quickly as she could. Bella's shoulders fell when she saw who it was and all at once, she was enveloped in a tight, eager hug.

"Good evening, sweetheart," said Esme with a sigh. "I'm sorry it's so late."

"I'm glad you're come," said Bella, muffled by the older woman's shoulder. "Come and sit."

Esme, pulling back with some concern, surveyed Bella with a keen eye that made her uncomfortable. She turned away before Esme could catch any hint of the tears she'd shed, but Esme, apt as ever, caught on at once.

"Something has upset you," she said and Bella, furious at herself for her weakness, shook her head in defiance.

"Nothing at all." She smiled, thin and pressed, and turned instead towards the sideboard. A plate of cookies was resting there, cool and sticky from her afternoon snack, and she brought it to Esme, pressing one upon her. Esme did not complain. "What brings you by so late?"

"We've only just arrived," said Esme. "Carlisle does his rounds in the city once a month. He's due in the East tomorrow morning, and we thought we'd cut down on tomorrow's business by travelling today. The city gates were hard to get through after dark… Edward had to come and let us in himself."

"Ah…"

"But something has happened, Bella," said Esme sadly. "I see it on your face. Are you ill?"

Dreading another repeat of Alice's frantic questioning, Bella shook her head at once, refusing to give that thought any chance to settle.

"Not a bit," she said truthfully. "I'm very well, Esme."

The other woman stared at her, uncannily still and calm and Bella, feeling rather silly, looked quickly away. They ate together in silence, Bella trying in vain to stoke the fire back to life before the elder spoke again.

"If I tell you what _I_ think, will you tell me if I'm right?"

Bella paused, wide-eyed. Esme took her silence as assent.

"We spoke to Edward on our way up," said Esme, "and he told us of the Council meet."

"Yes." Flames licked up a dry piece of wood and Bella, feeling a flare of heat, brought the poker away from the hearth. "Yes… they spoke of many things."

"Aye," Esme scooted herself to the end of the sofa and Bella, watching her with consternation, sat carefully by her side when she patted the empty seat. Esme's embrace was friendly and warm and despite her misgivings, Bella sunk into it with a sigh. Her head rested just below Esme's chin, her temple against her shoulder, and Esme ran her fingers so soothingly through her smooth hair that Bella, feeling pacified for the moment, let her eyes fall shut.

"He told me what you talked about," said Esme, "and he told me what you said."

"The spy," Bella said, deliberately avoiding the topic. "The spy is still loose…"

"No, not the spy," said Esme. "Don't play false, Bella… it does not suit."

Her cheeks brightened and she sat up, glaring at the table.

"He told me what he asked of you."

"Did he?"

"Yes." Esme squeezed her hand. "And he told me what you said."

"Yes."

Esme smiled and though it was genuine and happy, there was a tinge of concern about the edges.

"You don't seem pleased, sweetheart," said Esme finally and Bella, startled at being so easily found out, wheeled around in surprised. "You don't seem… glad."

"I _am_ glad," Bella said at once. "I was _very_ glad when he asked me…"

"But?"

Bella felt the sting of tears again.

"But _nothing,"_ she said, wiping at her cheeks. "There's nothing else to say."

"Oh, I think there is _plenty_ to say."

Bella turned away, biting her cheek so hard that she tasted the metallic tang of blood. This did not stop the sudden rush of fear—that strange and troublesome mix of elation and terror that made her heart throb and her throat feel tight.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Unable to hide her face, Bella felt Esme's strong, eager hands pulling her down at once. Bella went without much fight… felt her face rest on Esme's shoulder, her sore, aching eyes pinched shut. "Oh sweetheart…"

"It's _nothing."_ She dabbed at her face with the sleeve of her gown. "It's just… unexpected."

"Is it?" Esme pulled back with mild astonishment. "Is it so surprising that Edward should feel for you?"

Bella flushed red.

 _No,_ she thought, recollecting all the kindnesses and favours he'd shown her. _His bed, his care, this bedroom, Alice…_

The clues had been before her all the while.

"Hush, darling, don't cry so," begged Esme when Bella, unable to staunch them, had let her tears drip onto the skirt of her nightdress. "I wish you wouldn't cry… is it so very terrible?"

"Terrible?" she asked with watery, quiet astonishment. "No, Esme… not terrible…"

"Then why these tears?" Esme, looking worried and pitying all at once, dabbed gently at her cheeks with a handkerchief. "Why so sad, Bella?"

"I'm _not_ sad…"

"You _are_ sad," she contradicted at once. "I see it clear as day on your face."

The tears came anew.

"I am not sad because of _him,"_ said Bella, and for the first time in a long while, she felt an old fissure in her heart break open. "I'm not sad because of what he _said,_ or _did…"_

"Then what?" Esme held her close and Bella, wishing for a _different_ set of arms altogether, clung like a baby. "What is it, darling? I can't help you if you won't tell me…"

And the truth—that truth she'd held inside since her first arrival on this island—broke its banks like a river in a flood. It poured out of her like water, dripping onto her cheeks, her collar, her lap, and it soaked through Esme's shoulder in a turbulent wave of sorrow.

 _It was the joining of families,_ Edward had said. _That_ was what love on this island meant. It was the mingling of bloodlines, the sharing of traditions. It was the sharing of joy, a blessing from the Gods, and it was meant to be _shared_ between _families…_

But _her_ family, torn and mangled as it was, could never share in her happiness here. They would never know Edward like she did—would never see him, hear him, or feel him like she could—and it hurt her terribly. They would never share in her joy, would never join in her sorrow, would never travel these great unknowns with her, to be her solace and her guide. Her uncle thought her dead—she knew it in her deepest heart and soul—and he would not be thinking of her as she wished he might. He would not think of her smiling, or beautiful, or happy, but lost in the water, dead at the bottom of the sea with the wreckage of a rusted, hollow fuselage. Boomer would wait for her at the door like he always did, but she would not walk through to greet him. Jake would ride that roller coaster at Six Flags without her. They would love her for a while, and remember her even longer before they would put her story to rest, not knowing that there were entire chapter and volumes that they had not read, and would never get the chance to see.

If she accepted Edward—if she took his affection, and his care, and his attention—she would have to give up every bit of hope of returning back home, where her family was waiting without a prayer for her return.

"It's not fair, Esme," she said, hiccupping through her sobs. "It's not fair…"

"I'm sorry, darling," said Esme. Through her tears Bella heard the noise of the bedroom door, and she saw little Alice poke her head through with wide-eyed astonishment. "I'm so very, very sorry…"

"I _miss_ them," she said, and the ache in her heart grew like a weed. "I _miss_ them, and they'll never know…"

"They _do_ know," said Esme at once and Bella felt the sharp sting of fingernails at her back when Esme squeezed her. "Trust me, sweetheart… they _do_ know."

"They can't…"

"If you think, for one second, that they can forget you, you're absolutely mad," she whispered. Bella felt a kiss at her cheek. "There is no _way_ your family will _ever_ forget you."

"If I stay…"

Esme squeezed her even tighter as the sofa dipped down at the opposite end. Bella could not see Alice, but she felt the child's fingers at the small of her back, her little hand rubbing a soothing pattern to try and quell the storm.

"If you stay," said Esme with sniffle, "you will _have_ a family."

Bella hiccupped.

"You will _always_ have a family with us, darling. _Always."_

Alice kissed her elbow and Bella, despite herself, felt a small, sad smile.

"We can never replace what was lost." Esme pulled back with a watery grin of her own. "We can never _be_ what was lost… but we can be something else—something _equal—_ if you'll let us."

Bella felt a wave of humble and sorrowful gratitude.

"My nephew," continued Esme, "is not a very _forward_ boy." Her laughter rang like bells through the room and Alice, grinning hopefully, ducked her head with a blush. "He will not say it outright, if he thinks it might upset you…"

"Say what?"

"What he _needs_ to say," said Esme with a sigh. "He has held on to his feelings for a long time, darling… since before he ever met you. He's a very _sensitive_ boy…"

Bella said nothing.

"Did Carlisle ever tell you about our firstborn?" asked Esme and Bella, taken aback by the sudden shift, shook her head.

"No…"

"A lovely thing," said Esme and Bella, exhausted and sorrowful though she was, made out the sudden and painful hurt in her eyes. "A lovely girl, Bella."

Bella sniffled.

"We called her _Bria,"_ continued Esme. "She was so lively, sweetheart… so happy."

Esme's smile did not reach her eyes this time.

"She lived for an hour," said Esme with sudden sorrow. "Just one hour. She faded so quickly… so suddenly. We didn't know then that she would be the first of many."

Bella heard Alice hiccup, though the girl kept quiet, and Bella, suitably distracted from her own sadness, felt a new ache in her heart.

"Now, _don't_ ," said Esme sharply, seeing Bella's renewed tears. "It is an old story, now, and it's been over for many years."

"I'm sorry…"

"Hush." Esme stroked her damp cheek. "I don't tell you this to make you sad, Bella. I tell you to remind you that there is _more_ to family than what you've lost."

Bella frowned at her.

"We lost Bria, and then we lost her brothers too. Some we lost before they were truly formed, others were born and lived, for only a little while, before they faded. We learned slowly, but we figured out, in the end, that there would be no living children for us. There would be no little healer to take up Carlisle's trade. No sons to tend the fields, no daughters to love…"

Esme took a deep, careful breath.

"My nephews are my sons, now," she said gently. "After their mother…"

Bella nodded quickly, refusing to allow Esme to retell that story, too.

"After Elizabeth, I took them as my own. Edward is a man grown, and Jasper is nearly there, but they are both still so young…"

Bella said nothing when Esme trailed off and waited instead in the silence, wiping her wet cheeks on the sleeve of her nightdress. The wrists were soaked through and her nose, running fearfully, was pressed to her handkerchief. Esme watched her piteously, her eyes aglow with sympathy, before she spoke again.

"When you first came to us," she said, "you reminded me of her. You had the same colouring, and you were about the right age."

Bella shivered.

"I'm sorry…"

"No." Esme shook her head and reached out again. Bella, unable to deny her, let Esme take her into another embrace, smoothing down the tangled hair at the base of her neck.

"No," she said again. "It is not a sorrow, Bella… don't you see? You were a _blessing_ to me."

She frowned.

"How so?"

"You were my chance," she said with a small, sad laugh. "My _second_ chance…"

Alice's hand froze on her back.

"You were _not_ my girl… I knew it for myself, and Carlisle repeated it to me many times. You don't know how he _infuriated_ me, Bella… I shouted at him, and when he resisted me, I shouted some more."

Bella smiled, for she could only imagine it.

"But you were still a _chance,"_ she said again. "You were my second chance with my baby, grown though you were. I had no idea who you were… had no idea whether you would really _need_ me or not, but for those precious few days when you were so terribly sick, you were like my very own come back to me again. I loved you then, Bella, as I continue to love you now, and I hope that no matter where you are, that you'll know that."

And Bella nodded, wordless, because despite it all, she did.

"You were _my_ second chance," she said again, "and if you let us, we could be _your_ second chance. You will never be Bria and I'll never be your mother, but perhaps, if we try, we can be something entirely our own. We can be a _family_ , Bella."

"A family," she repeated with a coarse, tearful chuckle. "I _need_ a family, Esme…"

"And you have one." Esme kissed her cheek and Bella, feeling a curious warmth that she had not felt in years, let her eyes flutter closed. "You will _always_ have family with me, sweetheart."

Her tears stopped flowing.

"And _family,"_ continued Esme, "is not diminished by an addition. It is only _grown._ "

She thought at once of Edward's speech in the garden.

"You can love more than one, in more _ways_ than one," she whispered, pulling away for the final time. "You can love me, and you can love Carlisle, but if you love Edward too, it will not take away from any feelings that came before it."

"But do I _love_ him, Esme?" Bella asked the question with bewildered disbelief. "How will I _know_ if I do?"

Esme simply smiled at her, her face awash with joy.

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience! My work has picked up (lots of calls for supply teaching), plus I had company last weekend and Canadian Thanksgiving is coming up THIS weekend, so there was (and still are) preparations to be made.**

 **Lots happening in this chapter... I hope you were able to follow along! I've wanted to bring Esme back for a few chapters now, and I decided she would be a good fit for a little heart-to-heart with our leading lady (to help her get her priorities in check). This chapter was started and rewritten a few times (as each previous version dragged on relentlessly into oblivion), and so it took me a little longer than I would have liked to get it finished up.**

 **As always, leave me a review to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!**


	35. Chapter 35

_**Previously:**_

" _But do I_ love _him, Esme?" Bella asked the question with bewildered disbelief. "How will I_ know _if I do?"_

 _Esme simply smiled at her, her face awash with joy._

 **Chapter 35**

In the centre of the Market Street, amid the bustling chaos of the afternoon, Bella watched the preparations for the King's New Year with rapt and avid attention.

Word had spread like wildfire. Councillors, eager with the news of the festival, had announced it to their districts with great haste and aplomb. Riders had been sent to the north and east with scrolls bearing the signet of the royal palace. Soldiers had returned to watchtowers, full to bursting with news and excitement. In the city, people had gathered in throngs around Lorenzo and Rohailo who stood atop crates, or barrels, or anything else they could get their hands on, to shout the news across the roads and alleys, into windows and doorways that remained open to the warm, balmy air. The palace was alight with the bustle of preparation. The rooms below floors, where the servants ate and worked, were a hive of activity. More than once Bella had come across Lessie, red-faced and frazzled, but completely delighting in her rule of the kitchen, which had begun to prepare dried meats and fruits well in advance of the celebration itself.

It took only a week for the first countrymen to arrive. Wealthy salesmen from the north and purveyors of fine wines from the east were among the very first, as they were rich enough to send trusted, steady servants to book their rooms in the inns scattered throughout the great capital city. Old and proud family standards were hung from windows and rooves on waving banners and painted boards. Flowerbeds, overgrown with weeds and detritus, were cleaned and swept within an inch of their lives. Before long there were no more lodgings to be let in the inns within the city limits, and private homes began to open guest rooms at exorbitant prices which, no matter how Edward tried to curb them, ran out of control. The rich paid readily—the fishery owners who'd come too late, or the honey hawkers who'd faced arduous and trudging journeys, were put up in kingly guest suites along the Western walls and some poorer families, having saved penny by penny for such an important day, were crammed onto pallets in spare rooms in the East. Strips of grass along the river through town were staked and claimed by men with tents, and more such shelters—some two hundred at least—had been erected outside of the Western Gate in the final week before the celebration.

Bella watched the changes with a contradiction of great, tingling curiosity and a queasy, dreadful nervousness that made her feel sick.

" _It'll all be done quick,"_ Alice would say. _"You won't even have time to blink before it's over."_

In the throne room she watched the vetting of the vendors. On her stool by the King's side atop the great stone dais she tasted fresh fruits and sampled dried, wild meats from returning jungle hunters. She smelled an array of floral incense until her eyes swam with tears—her body's protest to the overwhelming perfume that choked the whole room. Bakers brought them bread to taste—small nibbles only, but nibbles that added up to a meal and a half once the final cook had gone through. Bella relished it all, glutton though she may be, and gave an eager and honest opinion on the very best samples she'd been able to taste.

" _What do you think, Bella?"_ Edward would whisper, his face bent low over hers as a fidgeting man stood wringing his hands before them. _"Did you like it?"_

More often than not she _had_ liked the vendor's offering and she told Edward so, to his great and inexplicable delight. But for all her watching—for all her spying, and listening, and figuring—Bella was still not entirely sure that she knew exactly what the King's New Year _was._

"It's a great party, Bella, that's what it is," said Rosalie staunchly, pressing her hot, black iron into the pleats of a freshly-laundered skirt. Bella was bent over the washtub with red cheeks, scrubbing against the board so hard that her hands were sore and pruned. Her hair, which had been smoothed and plaited, had escaped from its bindings and gone frizzy from the steam. Her own skirt had been clean just that morning but was now drenched through with warm, soapy water, and the grass had gone boggy and thick beneath her churning knees. Rosalie's belly, grown large and cumbersome, protruded onto the stone ironing tablet, next to which she'd started a roaring fire which only made the afternoon even hotter.

Laundry was a struggle for her now, given how big she had become, and Bella, good friend that she was, had quickly and naively offered to help her with some household chores. She did not _regret_ that offer—not when she was clearly quite useful to Rosalie in her time of need—though she little could have imagined the struggle of laundering clothes without the aid of an electric machine.

Her arms ached with the strain.

"But what _kind_ of party?" she puffed, tossing Finn's shirt, stained with mud, into the rinse basin after a long and ultimately vain attempt to whiten it. "It's an _anniversary,_ Edward said…"

"Aye." Rose put the iron down and fanned her face with her hand, stepping away from the blistering heat of the coals. The iron hissed against the damp stone. "An anniversary of the crown… it's a celebration of the King."

"But _why?"_

"Why not?" chuckled Rose. "What else do we have to celebrate?"

Bella blinked at her, astonished.

"We've got name days," Rose continued, answering her own question. "Four times each year."

Bella had learned that _birth_ days, while popular in her own culture, were not so well-celebrated on the island. There were no real calendars in Marolando—only the detailed notations of the cycling weather—and so each birth was marked instead by the passing of seasons. Winter and summer babies were feasted on the solstices, and spring and autumn babies on the equinoxes.

"Then there are the odd feast days," Rosalie continued, arching her spine. Her belly stuck out even further and Bella, mesmerized by the writhing baby within, saw a telltale protuberance of arm or foot at the root of her bump. "Mostly Royal things…"

"But what _kinds_ of royal things?" Bella asked, dunking another shirt into the sudsy water. "You forget, Rose… I'm absolutely _clueless."_

 _And,_ she thought ruefully, _if I'm to be the great yearly gift, I should at least know what is being celebrated._

"Oh… all sorts," said Rose, returning to her work. "Births, marriages, deaths…"

"Deaths?" Bella interrupted. "You celebrate _death?"_

"Not in the way you're thinking," she chuckled. "It's not so much a _party_ then…"

"Then what?" Bella's hands, red and raw, ran once more over the washboard.

"Feasts," said Rosalie again. "At least in the West… it was feasts."

Bella remained silent.

"When someone dies, they are returned to the Earth," she said, speaking so casually that Bella might have thought that it was just _any_ topic of conversation. "It is a great loss, of course, and is so recognized with the proper rituals…"

"I see…"

"Food," said Rose with a laugh. "That is what it all comes down to, Bella. Food."

"And so next week…"

"When the New Year comes, I expect there will be plenty."

"You expect?" Bella prodded.

"You forget _yourself_ ," said Rose with a nudge to Bella's arm, "that I'm as new to this as you."

Bella pondered that for a moment.

"Is there _nothing_ said about it beyond the mountains?" she asked curiously. "Is there _nothing_ said at all?"

"Only in whispers," said Rose and Bella, attuned to the shift in her voice, heard the sudden sobriety. "Only in very faint whispers."

"Why?"

"It is outlawed," said Rose simply. "We do not talk of the East under Western rule, and we certainly do not discuss the King."

"At all?"

"Not at all," confirmed Rosalie. "Not one word. Jamos would have an absolute _fit_ if he heard anything of the sort."

"But then…"

Rose watched her with keen, sharp eyes.

"Then what?"

"Then… how did _you_ know so much?" she asked. "When you fled, I mean. You knew _exactly_ where to go, and what the King would say once you got here…"

"I knew nothing of the sort," laughed Rosalie. "I _guessed,_ and of course I _hoped_ , but I did not _know."_

Bella waited for further explanation.

"I was able to guess because I was privileged," said Rosalie. "My husband spoke many secrets in my hearing… I knew far more than the average wife, I'm sure of that."

Bella bit her lip.

"But we did not talk of festivals," she finished with a sigh. "I know only what I've heard from the neighbours… we've almost been outed, Finn and I, for our ignorance. Thank the gods that Emmett has filled me in."

"Has he?" Bella grumbled, scowling towards the door. Try though she might, she had not been able to pull much information from Emmett on their way over, as whenever she would ask, he would reply only with wit and winks.

" _Ed wants it to be a surprise,"_ he'd said. _"A treat for the Lady…"_

As if he could hear them discussing him Emmett peeked around the wall of the kitchen, winking at Bella before his eyes settled on Rosalie, who did not see him. He watched her then, only for a moment, but Bella saw such a curious and maddening tenderness in his otherwise hard and unflinching countenance that she narrowed her eyes at him, which only made him turn back towards the road with pink cheeks.

Bella felt a sudden burst of confidence.

"What do you think of Emmett, Rosalie?" she asked bravely, keeping her voice low enough to stop the man from hearing. "Do you think he's…"

Bella could not decide if her friend looked more horrified or shocked by the question which, now voiced, hung between them like the blade of a guillotine. Her hand froze on the iron, leaving the steaming, hot metal on the skirt until it smoked, and she blinked, stupefied, into Bella's wide, apprehensive eyes.

"What?" she asked finally, setting the iron back on its heel. "What do you _mean_ , Bella?"

Bella felt distinctly hot around the collar and she hesitated, clearing her throat.

"What do you think of Emmett?" she asked again, her voice much more subdued. "I only ask because…"

"I know why you ask." Rosalie cut her off with a curt titter. "I know why _everyone_ asks."

Bella's cheeks went red.

"I know what they say about me, especially in the village," she continued. She glanced around to the neighbour's yard, where there was nothing but overgrown beanstalks and sad, drooping banana leaves. "I know what they think."

" _I_ don't," said Bella honestly, and she felt a queer twinge of sympathy deep in her belly. "I didn't know they said _anything…"_

"Of _course_ they do," spat Rosalie without even a hint of humour. "Of _course_ they talk. He's here often enough, isn't he?"

"Is he?" challenged Bella. "I don't know all of what he does, Rosalie, for all I see him in the castle."

Rosalie watched her with a blank, guarded expression. There was silence for a moment, without even a sound from the washtub full of soapy water, before Rosalie spoke again, her face turned away so that Bella could not read it.

"I like him well enough," she said lowly. "I expect anyone would. He is helpful, and he is kind…"

"Yes…"

"But?" Rosalie turned her back now, under the guise of flattening a seam. "What of it?"

Bella bit her cheek.

"Rose?"

Rosalie said nothing.

"I don't mean to pry."

"No, I don't think you _mean_ to."

Rosalie's emphasis made her opinion quite clear and Bella, feeling both proud and foolish, bit back the urge to snap back.

"And yet you are my _friend,"_ said Bella. "You are my _only_ friend, Rose, and so I care. I don't _mean_ to be nosy."

Rosalie, seeming to deflate, turned around with sad eyes.

"There's nothing for it, Bella," she said. Her eyes travelled over to the place where Emmett's face had poked around, and where they could now see the rear of him, leaning idly against the signpost in the yard. A neighbour—someone Bella did not recognize—walked down the lane and waved and Emmett stopped him, chatting jovially.

"What do you mean?" Bella asked and Rose, downcast and sullen, turned away at once. She returned to her ironing with unnecessary vim.

"I mean that there is nothing for it," she repeated. "It matters not what I think of him… the fact is, Bella, that there could not be _any_ sensible or well-suited man who would look twice at me."

"Says who?" demanded Bella angrily. "Why do you say so?"

"Because it is true," said Rosalie with a sad finality that drove all of Bella's ire away at once. "Because it is the truth. I am not a widow, which would be acceptable in its own way, and I'll soon have not just _one_ , but _two_ children to feed. Though they come from parents both wedded and bedded, they are little more than bastards here, where there is no father to love them. It is a great burden for any man to even _consider,_ much less _take on."_

"Burden?" Bella barked a laugh and Rosalie, eyes narrowed up, said nothing. "I don't see the _burden_ in it…"

"No, I don't think you would," Rose grumbled. She tossed the pressed, slightly singed skirt into her wicker laundry basket without folding it. "No, you _would_ see otherwise…"

"Rose…"

"Never mind, Bella." Rosalie pulled the basket to her hip with some difficulty. "Never mind what I think of Emmett. It doesn't signify, and it won't amount to anything."

"But…"

Rosalie, looking tired and drawn, turned without a word and escaped into the cool shade of her tidy kitchen and Bella, left brooding at the washtub, felt her own fears rising like serpents in the grass.

* * *

It was on her way back to the castle after a stunted and chilly farewell from Rosalie that Bella, deep in her own thoughts, was startled by a hand at her back.

"May I join you?"

She was jolted so badly that she yelped, her voice echoing down the lonesome, quiet street. It bounced down to the waterside, coursing through the low river valley, and more than one person—children in the shallows, women at the wash line, and men, leading livestock through the lanes—stopped to look. Emmett wheeled around at once, his hand on the hilt of his blade, but at almost the same time as Bella he stopped, his arm falling slack at his side.

He turned around again without a word, leaving Bella breathless in the sudden hush.

"I'm sorry," said Jasper contritely. He shuffled his feet in the dirt and looked, to Bella's quiet relief, torn between regret and amusement. Bella smiled to ease his discomfort and when he saw that she wasn't angry he grinned impishly at her, snatching up her hand to hook it around the bend of his elbow.

"I saw you down the lane," said Jasper. "Or at least… I _thought_ it was you. What are you doing on this side of town?"

Bella laughed.

"I was with Rosalie," replied Bella. "To help."

"Help?"

"With the washing," she explained. "She's a little…"

Jasper chuckled.

"Round?" he supplied helpfully, making Emmett turn and frown at him. "A little… top-heavy?"

"Now, watch yourself," laughed Bella. "She might still hear you, and she's none too kind to those who insist on pointing it out."

Jasper laughed at her but Emmett, looking suddenly stormy, grumbled and walked on ahead.

"He doesn't like me much," Jasper told Bella in a whisper so loud that even Emmett, some ten paces ahead, scowled back at them. "Never has."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Oh, it is," said Jasper and Bella, though she felt a pang of sympathy, was not quite sure what to make of his utter disregard for this fact. "He's always liked Ed best."

"The _King,"_ said Emmett without turning, "is a great companion. He is… proper."

"And I am wild," said Jasper without so much as a hint of contrition. "I know it well. But anyhow… I did not track you down to talk about _him."_

He jerked his chin irreverently at Emmett who, still turned away, did not see.

"So why _did_ you track me down?" asked Bella. Together they wound slowly up the riverside pathway that would bring them back to the castle gates. "Why _did_ you follow us?"

"Easy now!" Jasper looked affronted. "I did not _follow_ you, Miss Bella. I merely _saw_ you."

Bella bit her cheek to stop her grinning.

"It's true!" Jasper pulled her even closer and she did not resist him, falling somewhat behind when his long legs increased in pace. "I didn't follow…"

"So what were you doing, then?"

" _Advertising."_ He rolled his eyes with a grimace. "On behalf of the _King."_

"Advertising for _what?"_ queried astonished Bella. "What's he selling?"

"Oh, nothing," said Jasper. "Not _selling._ More like… _performing."_

"Performing?" Bella was struck by a sudden vision of costumes and makeup. "Performing for what?"

"The New Year." Jasper's eyes rolled again. "That blasted _New Year."_

"Do you not like it?" Bella asked. "I've not heard a single bad word about it."

"No, you wouldn't." said Jasper with a grumble. "Not here, anyhow. I expect very few people really _dislike_ it."

"But you do?"

Jasper shrugged noncommittally.

"It's a lot of work for nothing," he said finally, after Bella remained silent and awkward for a long moment. "It's a whole lot of preparations and fuss for _one day…"_

"It is the people's chance to celebrate their King, young prince," Emmett cut in sharply and Jasper, going pink, snapped around to face him. "It is a chance to show their respect."

"Aye."

"You don't agree?" Emmett raised a stiff eyebrow and stopped, waiting for the pair of them to fall in line beside him before he continued. He eyed Jasper with particular interest. "You don't think they _should_ pay their respects?"

"No… they should."

"Then what?" asked Emmett. "What's the matter with it?"

"I…" Jasper glanced sheepishly at Bella. "I just… don't like it."

"But why…?"

"I just _don't,_ okay?" His voice, which had thus far been soft and kind, went hard in an instant. "It's a lot of fuss and a _ton_ of bother, all so people can eat some food and spend some coin."

"It's important."

"I _know."_ His face went sullen. "I _know_. Edward says so often enough."

"It boosts the economy," said Emmett, and Bella, squeezing Jasper's arm in consolation, watched as he tried to bite back his remarks. "It is good for the market."

"Aye, but…"

"And morale," Emmett continued without pausing. "Morale matters, Jasper."

" _Morale,"_ he grumbled. "What does _morale_ have to do with anything?"

Emmett stopped and Jasper, startled by the suddenness of it, halted within inches of the man's back.

"Morale is _everything,_ Jasper," he said in astonishment. "Surely you know that?"

"Don't see why." Jasper, pulling lightly on Bella's arm, tugged them free of Emmett's shadow. "I don't see why it matters so _very_ much."

"If there is no morale, there is no _hope,"_ said Emmett and Bella felt the return of that queer, aching queasiness deep in the pit of her belly. "Hope keeps this island together, if nothing else. You should remember that, Jasper, if you want to be a leader."

Jasper eyed him curiously. Emmett, surveying the boy with a searching, critical eye, seemed to soften when he saw the genuine incomprehension on the child's face.

"Hope keeps spirits high," said Emmett finally, speaking slowly so as to make himself clear. "Hope is what drives the people to love instead of hatred."

"Love?"

"They love your brother, as they loved your father before him," said Emmett. "They love _you_ too, though I'm sure you don't know it."

"I _don't_ know it…"

"And it is precisely _because_ of that love," continued Emmett, "that order is maintained."

"How can they love a man they hardly see?" groused Jasper, his face dark with suspicion. "How can they love someone they only know from a distance?"

Emmett eyed him, his face downcast. With a peculiar softness on his irritated face Bella saw how his gaze flickered back towards the pink cottage round the bend in the road, so far from them that it was no longer visible from their vantage point. His eyes lingered there on that invisible spot for only the briefest of moments but it was enough, to her dismay, to bring her a funny little ache that made her grimace, looking away.

Emmett caught the look she wore and she saw his face fall back into a mask of indifferent sobriety, his eyes turned steadfastly away from visions of the pink house. Bella kept her mouth shut.

"Love takes many forms, Jasper, as you'll learn for yourself in time," said Emmett, his voice tinged with sadness. "There are many kinds of love, and all of them are worthy."

Jasper grumbled, hitching his shoulder to his ear.

" _Love,"_ he repeated disdainfully. "What in the world does that even _mean?"_

* * *

When the evening's twilight had dimmed to inky indigo skies, Edward found Bella in the shadows of the yard, her back towards the light from the basement kitchen and her face turned down towards the ground. She stood motionless, with only the wind to rustle her skirts and her shawl, and Edward, torn between complete and irrevocable desire and his own red-faced shame, could only watch her from behind. Her body was as still as stone—she did not sigh, nor shake, nor shiver from the dark chill of the night, and she did not look back at him, no matter how badly he wished she might.

He did not have the courage to call out to her.

That morning, blissfully unaware of any predicament or trouble, Edward had risen in the way that had become his norm since his prior conversation with Bella in the yard—eager, vivacious, and full to bursting with a joyous, happy ache that made his heart throb and his stomach leap. He had awoken as a man renewed, a man so full of tender hopes and glorious excitement that it had taken him a full ten minutes in Esme's company to notice her sobriety, or the seriousness of the gaze with which she watched him.

" _You must talk to her, Edward,"_ Esme had said. _"You must speak with her before it is too late."_

Speak to her. That is what Esme had told him to do…

" _I speak to her all the time, Auntie!"_ he'd replied, both bewildered and astonished. _"Every day we talk, and laugh…"_

" _Aye, but you must speak again," she said. "You must speak again, Edward, and this time, you must really_ listen."

All at once, as if a plug had been pulled from his feet, his eager, blind joy had seeped away like water from a tub. He'd felt it leaving—felt that cold, hollow emptiness it left behind—and he frowned unhappily at his aunt, who looked for all the world as if she had shouldered the weight of creation. Her face, so kindly and gentle, was twisted into a mask of worried disappointment and her eyes, staring so sternly at his, held none of their usual laughter or mirth.

" _What is it, Auntie_?" he'd asked, much more gently than before. _"What's the trouble? Is all well?"_

" _All is well for me, and I daresay it will be for you, too, if you find the courage to make it so."_

" _Courage?" he asked with astonishment. "Courage for what?"_

" _You told me of your hopes," said Esme, "and you told me of your plans…"_

 _The deliciousness of those plans—those delicate and lovely dreams that had sent him soaring to new heights—seemed suddenly daunting._

" _I did," he agreed at once. "I did tell you… are you not pleased?"_

 _At once, her seriousness shifted to tenderness and he saw, for only a moment, that same, soft Esme he'd known and loved since he was a very small child._

" _Oh, my boy, how could I_ not _be happy?" She clasped his hands between hers and he was astonished at the strength of her grip. "Of_ course _I'm happy… for both of you. Do you know how long I've waited for this day?"_

" _You?" he laughed teasingly._ "You've _waited long?"_

" _Only since the moment your mother told me she was with child," she chuckled back. "It is the dream of any parent to see their children settled and happy, and your mother and I have both wanted that for you since the moment you came to be. You're more than old enough to find a partner, Edward, and I couldn't be happier that you've found one in_ her."

 _Some of the warmth that had left him returned at these words, kindling gently in the recesses of his heart._

" _It is not dissatisfaction that draws me to you now," she continued. "It's not to express any… reservations."_

" _Then why have you come, so sombre and sad?" He felt like a little boy again at Mother's knee for a scolding. Esme watched him for a long moment, her face unreadable and dark, before she sighed and sagged, squeezing both his hands in hers._

" _Do you love that girl, Edward?" she'd asked without preamble. "Do you care for her enough to call it love?"_

 _It didn't take him more than two seconds to give his honest answer._

" _Then hear me now," said Esme softly. "Hear me, and heed me, for there is much to be said and even more to be done before the pieces of this puzzle you've created can fall into place."_

" _A puzzle, Auntie?" Edward had asked in astonishment. "What puzzle?"_

" _Sit down, Edward, and let us talk," said Esme. Without waiting for an invitation she perched herself atop his sofa, sitting so close to the hearth that it bathed her in a halo of light. "Sit next to me, just here, and I will tell you everything."_

And so she had.

He'd listened without speaking as Esme began her tale. He heard how she'd left him that fateful night, all happiness and glee, and how she'd gone to Bella to give her blessings and joy. She'd thought to find her resting, perhaps already abed, but on such a momentous occasion as this, there was nothing else for it. She _had_ to see Bella, and she had to see her just then, while the news was still fresh.

But, when Esme had gone to the Queen's Tower, she had not found a giddy, joyful bride-to-be. She had not found a woman delighted, or even a woman in _love_ as Edward would have hoped, but instead a figure of brave and tragic gloom, seated alone before a fire with a frowning face of stone.

" _She is grieving still, Edward, and she needs to know you care,"_ Esme had said. _"She needs to know that by accepting you and all that you offer that she is not going to lose what she once had."_

" _What she once had?"_ Edward had repeated those words with a fearful strike of jealousy that astonished even himself. _"She's said nothing of… another."_

" _Not another_ partner _, Edward… she would have told me plainly of a thing like_ that. _But you must recollect where she's come from… She lost her whole family, my dear, and even more than that when we consider her home and her comfort. She no longer pines for it as she once did, that's true enough, but…"_

Esme had not needed to finish her sentence because Edward _knew._ If anyone had a chance of understanding what it was she felt, he knew it would be himself. Bella had not chosen her fate any more than he had his—she had not asked for this island, and she had not asked for his company, and he, despite it all, had not asked for his castle, or his title, or his throne. He had not asked to be a leader, had not ever _wanted_ to be a leader, and yet here they both were, in places that neither one of them had chosen, trying to make the very best of the hands they'd been dealt.

He knew the pain of loss and he knew the ache of grief. He knew the fear of change—that blistering, scalding, paralyzing terror that rose up like a snake when the future was uncertain. He knew it despite his happiness—beyond the wine tastings, the kitchen preparations, and the market planning for the New Year festival there was a constant sense of loss, as if it were not _he_ who should be celebrated, but another King already dead and buried.

He knew what it was to feel out of place, like an imposter in his own home, and as he thought of Bella he wondered how he ever could have missed it.

That poor creature had lived two lives—one in that mystery world that both frightened and intrigued him, and the other right here beside him, in a world that frightened and intrigued _her._ Of _course_ she would have doubts, no matter how much she seemed to care for him and his own. Of course she would have _fears._

For if Edward gained a wife, as he sincerely hoped he would, it would be sure to feel like a sting to her despite its joys and promises. She was a flower uprooted—pulled from the very soil in which she had sprouted—and it was never an easy thing to be replanted elsewhere.

" _I will talk with her, Auntie,"_ Edward had vowed, feeling foolish and rash. _"I will talk with her, I promise you."_

Esme had smiled at him from ear to ear, her eyes brimming with a delighted happiness that drove out all the lingering coldness in the pit of his heart and stomach.

" _Tell her what you've told me,"_ she'd said. _"Tell her all of what you've said to me."_

" _I will."_

" _And for pity's sake, Edward…"_ His head had snapped up in quiet apprehension _. "Put that poor girl out of her misery. You are entirely too modest for your own good, and if you don't ask her properly I'm almost certain that she'll never realize what you mean!"_

Edward had only blushed, bowing quickly to her when she'd left him alone in his bedchamber.

And so he had waited. More unsolicited vendors, come to offer him wares and treats for the festival, waited in vain for him to appear in the throne room. Servants coming to clean rooms and tend fires were astonished to find their master perched atop sofas and chairs in his private rooms so late in the day. The footmen scampered like frightened pups when they saw him lurking in places he ought not to have been. The maids blushed and ducked away. The butler, coming to see what the trouble was for himself, had been summarily dismissed and the servants reprieved from their daily cleaning of his bedchamber, leaving the king alone to ponder his own folly and think over how he should make it right.

When he watched her leave in the late hours of the morning, slipping unseen through the portcullis gate with Emmett at her side, he knew at once where she must be headed. Though he had duties of his own to attend to, Emmett was quite eager to shirk any of them if it meant a lawful, chaperoned visit to his lady in the east.

And now here she was again, returned safe as he knew she would be, her face downcast and her body cold and shivering as the wind picked up. Steeling himself for the impending confrontation he reached out to her, his fingers brushing lightly over the cold, pebbled flesh of her bare arm. She started when she felt it, her pretty face turning in alarm to see who he was, and when her gaze landed on his face she stilled, eyes wide and surprised.

"You scared me," she said with a shaky laugh. "I didn't hear you coming."

Edward's heart hammered wildly in his chest but he said nothing. Her expression did not change the longer she watched him—she was as steadfastly calm, as brightly attentive, and as gently and curiously questioning until he found the strength to speak.

"I have been a _fool,"_ he said softly, and her face fell into a frown. "An absolutely dreadful _fool._ Will you walk with me, Bella, so we can talk together? Just you and I?"

At once her face went blank and Edward knew, without quite knowing how he did, that she understood at once what he wanted to say. He watched a flash of worry cross her face in an instant—watched how it brightened her eyes and made her gaze shift away from him, her fingers squeezing reflexively as she clasped them together to stop them trembling. Though it was dark, he saw how her cheeks went pink and she turned away from him only slightly, wrapping her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

He felt her tension as if it were her own—as if he, too, felt the weight of worlds and as if he, like her, were trying to hold it in.

"Come," he urged, hooking his arm through the tense bend at her elbow. She relaxed into him with a sigh. "Walk with me, Bella. I promise we won't be long outside."

And so she followed, as quiet as the grave for a long and tense spell, until finally, unable to bear it any longer, Edward broke the silence with a question.

"Are you terribly disappointed in me, Bella?" he sighed, feeling wretched and cold. "Are you terribly sorry you ever took up with me?"

Startled, she wheeled around at once.

"Disappointed?" she asked in amazement and to his relief, he saw the edges of her lips twitch into a poorly-concealed smile. "What _ever_ have you done that could make me _disappointed?"_

He laughed, though it felt strained and wrong.

"I've been a fool," he repeated, "and my folly has been made plain. I'm sorry, sweetheart, for not seeing it sooner."

"Seeing _what?"_ she asked, frowning. "What have you done?"

He stopped their walk and sighed, bringing her around to face him. Although he had not intended it he did not complain when she leaned in closer, wrapping her thin arms around his middle and leaning her cheek sweetly against his shoulder.

He relished the feel of her—the _weight_ of her—so solid and certain in his arms.

"I've been negligent," he said finally, after a long, tender pause. "I've been… inconsiderate."

"You're the _opposite_ of inconsiderate," she bit back with a laugh, pulling away to look him full in the face. Her own was filled with a tender curiosity and bright, agitated confusion that made her forehead pucker, and he smoothed it gently with the pad of his finger.

"Don't look so, because it's true," he went on. "I've been… too hasty, I think."

She bit her lip.

"I spoke with my aunt, Bella." Her face fell at once and her cheeks, already pink, went scarlet in the gloom. "I spoke with Esme."

She groaned and turned away.

"I _never_ should have…"

"You _absolutely_ should have," he admonished, squashing that thought before it had a chance to root. "You absolutely _should_ have, Bella, and I should have realized that you would."

"I'm fine," she said at once. "I'm absolutely _fine._ A moment of weakness, that's all…"

"Had that one moment of weakness not come through, you would have been subject, perhaps, to a lifetime of sorrow," he said. "I do wish I would have seen it sooner. I wish I would have _known."_

She turned away from him with an impatient titter and he saw, to his terrible dismay, how her hand came up to brush the wetness from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry she troubled you," said Bella. "I didn't think…"

"She was right to," said Edward. Bella began to walk and he followed after her, his heart pounding. "She had every right to tell me…"

"Did she?" Bella wheeled on him with furious irritation. "Did she have a right to tell my private business? And to _you,_ of all people, who must think me daft?"

Edward bit his tongue.

"She cares," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "She cares about you, Bella, and she cares about me. She cares about _us."_

She turned away again, folding her arms around her middle.

"And she cares that we're happy. I _thought_ we were…"

"I _am_ happy," she said in a small, plaintive voice that had lost all of its fledgling temper. "I _should_ be happy…"

And yet, though he wished it were not so, he could not mistake that note of worry, the sound of her small and vulnerable fear that made the very sinew on his bones feel cold.

"And yet you are _not,"_ he finished gently. "No matter what you _should_ be, you are _not."_

She stared at him in surprise when he spoke those words to her, and for the first time since their meeting so long ago in the Queen's chambers, when Bella could barely speak one comprehensible word to him, he saw a glimmer of her truest self which had, thus far, remained hidden behind a mask of pretty smiles. She watched him staunchly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and as he saw the pieces of her hard façade begin to crumble and fall he felt an overwhelming urge to reach her—to take that sorrow, and that fear, and that lingering pain away and make it his own so that she would no longer be burdened by it. He wanted to share it with her, to take the bad and give her all the good in the world, but he knew when he reached out to take her shaking, trembling little form to his heart that it would be an absolute impossibility.

"If I could take it from you, I would," he said to her, letting her cry a storm of tears into the collar of his shirt. "If I could make it go away—make this sadness that you suffer disappear—I would do it in an instant. I wish you would not be afraid…"

Her arms tightened reflexively and Edward, though he felt a twinge of conscience at the impropriety of it, returned her embrace in kind.

"I'm not _afraid,"_ she choked through her hiccups. "I'm not _scared."_

"No?"

"I am _sad,"_ she continued. "I am sick at heart, for all I should be glad."

His breath caught in his throat.

"Do you want…"

She glanced up at him quickly, her brow furrowed with anticipation.

"Do you want to… go?" he asked gently, though the very thought of it broke his soul in two. "Do you want to… leave?"

He heard her choke on a laugh, though there was no humour left in it.

"Leave?" she asked. "Go? Where would I _go_ , if I left here?"

He had no answer to give.

"Where else is there? Besides here?"

"I don't know, Bella, but…"

"I _can't_ go, don't you see?" Her face fell again and another tear dropped to his neck. "I can't _leave,_ no matter how much I wish I might."

"I'd never keep you," he said at once. "I'd never… force you, Bella."

"No, I daresay you wouldn't," she replied and she ran her arm over her eyes with furious speed. "No, I didn't think you'd _keep_ me."

"You're not a bird," he continued. "You can't be _caged._ I _had_ hoped…"

He trailed off into silence, Bella still clutched tightly in his arms, and when she pulled back slightly to survey him, he did not meet her eyes.

"You had hoped what?" she asked, and for the first time since they'd set out together he caught a hint of genuine softness in her voice. "What had you hoped for, Edward?"

She watched him soberly with a face as serious as stone, but her eyes held a world of contradictions that made him pause. Delight and sorrow, confidence and shame, bright, anticipatory eagerness and dark, brooding reluctance…

"I had hoped to make you mine," he said, so low that she almost couldn't hear. "I had hoped to give you _myself."_

She blinked at him, not astonished as Esme might have predicted, but rather tender, and altogether calm.

"A fine gift, I'm sure," she teased with a quick and winning smile. "A fine present for anyone…"

"Only if it is welcome," said Edward again and this time, her smile did not fade. That sadness was still there—it was etched on her face as if carved there by a stoneworker—but the longer he looked, the more he thought it might have lifted some, as if the lines had been smoothed by the lull of his words.

She watched him without answer for a long and arduous moment, her face unreadable. His stomach writhed with anxious worries as he waited, watching her lip disappear between her teeth and her eyes flicker down to contemplate his collar.

"I must be _free_ , Edward," she said finally, and the pronouncement surprised him. "I must learn to be _free."_

"You _are_ free," he said at once, his confusion leaking through. "You've always _been_ free, and so long as I am breathing, you always will be."

"Not always," she replied. "I haven't always known how…"

"Known how?"

" _Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."_ She spoke with deliberate care, as if she struggled to render the translation so that he could understand. The phrase made him pause. "I've said those words to you before."

"You have."

"And they're _true,"_ she said again. "I _know_ that they're right."

Edward was not sure what to say, and so he said the only thing that came to mind.

"Can you be _happy_ here, Bella?" he asked. "Can you be happy here, by my side and in my heart?"

Her breath caught and she blinked up at him with a wry, knowing smile.

"I can _try,"_ she said softly. "I can _try_ Edward. I can _try…"_

"That is all I ask," he answered and at once he felt his own anxiety melting like snow atop a mountain peak. When he saw her shoulders sag, her body losing its stiffness in his arms, he felt those fears flow away like a river, coursing down from his head to his toes to water the grass at their feet. Her lingering tears slowed before they stopped altogether, and he saw a curious, silent courage well up in her before she leaned away again, looking him straight in the face.

" _Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you,"_ she repeated. _"This_ is what has been done to me, Edward. Getting on that plane happened, that storm happened, falling from the sky, landing on the beach, and being a part of your world here, on the island, are all what's happened to me."

He said nothing through this speech, but listened carefully to her words.

"Whether it's right or wrong," she continued, "whether it's good or bad, it's what's _happened._ I _can't_ go back to what I left behind, no matter how hard I wish or pray. I won't see my family again," her voice broke, but she did not cry, "and I will not see my home. But that doesn't mean…"

He smoothed her cheek and she looked close to crying again but she mastered herself, collecting her frayed and ragged thoughts to continue on.

"I _am_ sad," she went on. "I _am_ grieving, as Esme says. I expect there will _always_ be some grief, and some sadness, for what kind of person would I be if I did not feel for the family who loved me?"

Edward did not need to answer, for he knew that she was right.

"But that does not mean," she said, taking a long, deep breath, "that I can't enjoy the life I have _now."_

"Bella…"

"Esme caught me in a moment of weakness," she said again. "No, don't argue. It _was_ weakness. I felt it again just this afternoon, but it did not fell me then. I can't promise you that there won't be another time when it does…"

"I'd never ask it," he said at once. "I'd never ask you to hide your feelings."

"I never _could,"_ she answered back. "I was always terrible at it… my mother could read me like an open book."

The expression, while strange, was not lost on him and he grinned, shaking his head.

"I find you _inordinately_ difficult to read," he countered. "I spend half my days trying to discern whether or not you're cross with me."

"I've _never_ been cross with you," she said at once. "Not even at the first."

"Not even when I asked about the dead?" he queried, and he saw her scowl and blush. "Not even then?"

"No, not even then," she said. "I was _frightened_ , but not _angry."_

"I'm glad to hear it…"

"But I think," she went on, "that I _will_ be happy. I've made up my mind to try, which I think is worth something…"

"It is worth more than you know," said Edward kindly, and he saw another ghostly smile cross her lips. "It means more to _me_ than you know…"

She watched him with a subdued calm that made his stomach jump with nerves.

"And so Esme has pointed out," he continued, "that I _may_ have given a mixed impression last we spoke on this topic."

She broke into wild giggles that echoed off the stone walls. He knew then that she _had_ understood him, whether she'd made that clear to Esme or not, but he continued on nonetheless as if he didn't.

"May I have your permission to clarify?" he asked, and she nodded once. The sky overhead was dark now—so black that her white, soft face seemed to glow silver in the moonlight—and he felt a throb of love so deep and true that it took his breath away like a drink of rich and heady wine. That one small sip gave him the courage to say what came next, and he said it as well as he could.

"I _love_ you, Bella," he said softly, and he delighted in her blush. "I love you as I've never loved another, and I want you to know it plainly."

"I…"

"I _love_ you," he said again, "and I want to _marry_ you."

She shut her mouth with a snap.

"And so I ask you now…" He stepped away from her, bringing her hands with him when he would not let them go, to see those dark and honest eyes. "I ask you now… will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you stand by my side until our strength and power fade, and be a queen among queens to serve my people?"

She began to cry again, but this time there was no sadness in it. Edward heard a breathy laugh before she spoke, and though her hands still trembled from cold and nerves, they did not stop her from answering.

"Yes," she said at once and he felt as light as air at the sound. "Yes, Edward. Yes."

And in the darkness of the yard, with naught but the stars overhead, Edward saw the bright, silver tail of a shooting star streaming its way across the heavens.

 **A/N: Thanks for your patience. This one was a doozy. We were** _ **supposed**_ **to make it to the festival, but it looks like that'll wait for next time. I hope this new proposal helps clear things up and I hope it satisfies all you romantic readers (even just a** _ **little).**_

 **Also, another tip: if you want to get ahold of me with a question that you want answered, the fastest and easiest way is on my Twitter page (link in bio, or my handle is Moonchild_707). I don't always see private messages on this site the way I should (sometimes I get emails, sometimes I don't... it varies) but I'll almost always see a PM on Twitter. That's also the best place for updates (chapter ETAs, writing updates, etc.), so if you're interested, go and check it out!**

 **As always, let me know what you think! I love hearing from each and every one of you. We're currently at 936 reviews... I wonder when we'll crack 1000?**


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

In the slowly creeping daylight on the morning of the New Year Bella woke to the sound of music piping through her open bedroom window. She woke slowly, as if she surfaced from a warm, soft pool, and cracked her eyes open with a protesting groan atop her pillow as her senses came back one by one. Her bed was warm, as it always was, and as she slowly came back to herself she relished the softness of the sheets against her skin and the weight of the furs that were, while wholly unnecessary, a solid comfort that kept her snug. Her limbs felt heavy, as if they were not quite ready to relinquish their slumber to the calling of the day, and she turned her face to the pillow, breathing in the soothing smell of the lavender soap she favoured for her baths. Her plaited hair tickled her neck when it shifted from her shoulder and she twitched it away with clumsy impatience, refusing to open her eyes for just one moment longer.

Tucked up in bed was one of Bella's favourite places to be. She liked the warmth of the covers, the plush softness of the mattress. She relished those few moments before the sun forced her up and out into the great, wide world, but when her sleepy ears caught another drift of that soft, distant music, her curiosity rose and she pried her eyes open, squinting against the light from the window.

The room was awash in a glow of azure, as if the sky itself had spilled down from the heavens to pool in her room and her bed. Dawn, just cresting above the trees in the east, cast long, dark shadows striped with brilliant columns of light that danced on the wooden floor and painted stone walls. The air was cool—not hot or humid as the afternoons were apt to be—and she saw the effects of that coolness in the air outside. Trees, so distant that she could only see the tops, were engulfed in a white, damp haze of mist that she knew would dissipate the instant the sun rose high enough to touch the ground, and though it was still early, she could see no hint of white clouds in the sky. The day would be fine, she knew, and she was all the happier for it, for as eager as she was for the King's revelation at the end of the night, she was not sure her nerves could have lasted for a day of gloom and rain.

When she sat up, stretching her fingers to brush the blue netted canopy that was draped from the bedposts, her gaze fell on Alice who was curled upon the window seat near the head of Bella's bed. Her hair was loose and long, fluttering gently in the morning breeze and she had not yet dressed, but when she saw Bella watching her she grinned, curling her toes up beneath the hem of her nightdress.

"They're practicing," she said softly, nodding towards the grounds from which Bella could still hear the cheerful music. "Can you hear them, My Lady? They're practicing for tonight."

 _Tonight._

All at once, Bella felt the sudden and queasy rush of excitement that made her blood run cold and her heart thrum like the wings of a bird in its cage.

The last week of winter on this warm and balmy island had passed away in a blur, and it was so unlike the winters she was used to that Bella, caught up in the whirlwind of preparations and excitement, had hardly noticed the coming of spring. The seasons were milder here—there was no great divide between winter and summer, and only the solemn word of the learned scholars who studied the skies was proof of the passing seasons.

It had been a jolt when Bella had realized this. Without the snow to mark the winter, or the soft, fresh growth to mark the arrival of spring, Bella had not realized how much time had flown by, and how many things she must have missed. If her shaky count was right and the skies were to be trusted, it would be mid-March by now—a full seven months since her fateful departure from the airport in Seattle.

She had missed the beginning of school, where she had been set to start her new career. She'd missed Halloween and Thanksgiving. She'd even missed Christmas, and all the celebrations that came along with it, and this fact hadn't even occurred to her until just a few days prior, when she'd been walking with Edward along the upstairs gallery to look at the artwork. She had thought nothing of it—had not even spared it a passing thought—and only when she'd caught sight of the brilliant white snow caps atop the tallest mountains in the west had she paid it any mind.

It had been that snow—so crisp and white in the clear afternoon—that had made her stop. She'd stared at it, stricken dumb by her own realization, and had remained so long enough for Edward to grow concerned. He did not know about snow—not beyond his fleeting understanding of the unreachable mountain summit—and when he asked her gentle, halting questions about what exactly it _was_ , she'd been at a complete loss.

 _Cold water,_ she'd said. _Cold, hard water…_ Where she was from, it fell from the sky. When she was young, she'd used it to make her own castles and forts. Children made it into balls and threw it, or rolled it in the shape of men to dress up. If you were careless, it would make you slip and fall. It was cold— _oh so cold—_ and if you held it too long, it would burn you and then melt…

Edward, seeming to sympathize with her sudden discontent even if he did not quite understand its cause, had fallen conspicuously silent and had said no more about this mystery. She knew he did not understand—how _could_ he, really?—and she was ever so grateful when he'd left her with her thoughts, his silent presence beside her warm enough to keep off the chill of those sudden and vivid memories.

But today—this clear and beautiful day—was _not_ a time for sorrow. It was not a day for remembrance, or sadness, or grief, but a day of celebration. The arrival of spring was a symbol here as it was in many other places, and even Bella was not immune to its significance. Today was a day of renewal—of new beginnings and budding dreams—and she could only hope that the people would be as happy with the gift that the King would give them as she was.

She hoped she would be worthy, and she hoped she would be _strong._

The song outside picked up again and Bella smiled to hear it. Music was a rare pleasure on the island, though Edward had assured her that his people adored it, as skilled and ready players were very difficult to find, even in the city. Bella heard the songs with bemusement, disbelief warring with her love as she took it all in.

Strings and pipes and drums and bells… the music of the island. It was the music of the past, so like the songs people must have heard a century or two prior, but no matter how strange or familiar the tune, she knew it to be a beautiful and unmistakable herald of her future.

She closed her eyes with a frightful joy that made her pulse race furiously and she turned away from the window when she felt the coarse shiver that ran all the way from her head to her toes.

"My Lady?" Alice's fingers tickled the nape of her neck and Bella, startled, glanced around. "Are you alright?"

Her girlish face shone with such undisguised concern that Bella had to laugh, and the noise seemed to soften the child, who suddenly relaxed with a grin of her own. Alice did not know what the King intended to present to his people at sunset—Bella had kept mum on the subject, no matter how many times Alice had asked her—and so she _couldn't_ know just how terrified Bella really was. The girl was clever and smart, it was true, but she was a child still. She did not yet understand the subtleties or inferences of womanhood, and so when she saw Bella's happy smile she did not question the joy she saw there, and it did not occur to her to inquire for details that might have revealed more.

Bella's next words banished the child's doubt altogether and she watched with a fond indulgence as a girlish, giddy excitement overtook the worry. She spoke truth—an incomplete truth, perhaps, but a truth nonetheless—and her honesty only made her more believable.

"I am _wonderful,_ Alice," she said. "I am absolutely, positively _wonderful."_

* * *

When Bella had been washed and dressed and combed and styled, the sun peaked overhead and the day struck noon, marked by the rising crescendo of such vibrant and lively music that Bella, watching her own astonished reflection in the polished looking glass, fell silent in wonder.

"It's starting," said Alice, so soft that Bella turned to see her. The child was beaming from ear to ear, her little face lit up as her hands wrung the skirt at her waist. Bella felt a queer pride in her chest as she took in Alice's brightness, giving her an approving nod that made the girl blush.

"Very sweet, Alice," she complimented, and the child fairly bounced with glee. "Very pretty."

"Thank you."

The child had spent the better part of the morning running to and fro like a little worker bee, fussing over Bella to, in her own words, "make her ready for the party". Bella, naive as she was, had absolutely no idea what such preparations would entail until the girl got started, and Bella was soon subject to an intensive and in-depth education.

Parties, Bella learned, were very special affairs that required extra special attention. On a regular morning, she would have risen and washed, running a wet cloth over herself until she smelled fresh, and saving her real bath for the evening when she would have time to dry her hair by the evening fire. She would have chosen a dress— one of the many she now owned— with familiar long sleeves, a coloured vest that buttoned up the front, and sandals made from wood and suede like those she'd had at Terosankta. Sometimes Alice would give her a belt, other times a necklace or a pearl ring, but her look was hardly varied, however sensible it might be.

Today had been an entirely different affair.

Instead of preserving her nightly bathing ritual, Alice had called for extra maids as soon as Bella was out of bed to heat the water and fill the tub. She'd washed her body and her hair, languishing in the hot, scented water for only a moment longer than necessary before she'd been hurried out and settled before the unusually warm fire glowing in the grate.

Alice had combed her hair, weaving it over and around itself until it was twisted so fantastically that Bella, eying it in the glass, had brought her fingers up to touch it. There were pins galore, along with hidden ties and ribbons to keep it secure, and only once she'd sat before the flames, head bent uncomfortably close to the fire, had Bella realized what Alice's plan really was.

There were no curling irons on the island— in fact, when Bella had mentioned such a contraption to a curious Alice just a few weeks prior— she'd been shocked and horrified at the very thought. Hot metal was for cooking only, and the very idea of bringing a heated rod near one's head and face was enough to make Alice very wary of Bella's own hairstyling techniques.

When the hair dried, Alice released it from its bonds and it fell in long, soft curls that she refused to brush out, choosing instead to pin it away from her face and let the rest of it bounce down her shoulders and back.

Bella's party dress was another animal altogether.

In her old life, when she'd lived among her own familiar creatures, Bella had not considered herself any kind of style icon. She had worn comfortable clothes, and comfortable shoes, and had never— not even for her senior prom, which had been an unmitigated disaster— worn any kind of garment that made her feel foolish.

It had been an adjustment when she'd awoken in the castle. On the island, women did not wear pants, and so any hope of spandex and elastic had gone out the window. Skirts were always long— as long as any of her own maxi skirts back in Washington— and arms were always covered, despite the heat and the sun. Bella had grown used to this— had grown so comfortable and familiar with the daily routine of dressing that when Alice carried in a bundle of silvery fabric draped over one arm, Bella had initially thought it was an undergarment.

" _Where's the rest of it, Alice?"_ Bella had demanded, glancing down at her bare, pale arms and the creamy expanse of her back as she glanced over her shoulder to the mirror. _"This can't be all of it…"_

" _It's a party dress,"_ Alice had replied and Bella, attuned to Alice's easy moods and open face, had read the disbelief and exasperation in her voice. _"It's not a_ day _dress, My Lady… it's a_ party _dress."_

And what a party dress it was.

Made of some kind of light and satiny fabric that glistened in the sunlight, it was a long and flowing dress that fell well below her ankles. The waist was cinched and narrow— almost too tight, even for her slender frame— and the front of the torso was high and modest. The neckline came almost to her collar bones, well high enough to prevent any undesirable cleavage, but the back of it left much to be desired.

The modest neck finished in thin, shiny straps that held the whole thing up on her shoulders. They came up and around, joining with a thin strip of fabric on either side that connected to the skirt, but between those straps and the cinched, tight waist there was nothing at all but some laced straps, the same width and fabric as that on her shoulders, leading all the way from her shoulder blades to the very small of her back.

She'd never worn a backless dress in her whole life and she felt strangely exposed, though Alice had assured her that it was _just so._

In the present, Alice surveyed her work with prideful appreciation.

"You look _beautiful,"_ she gushed, recovering from Bella's compliment in an instant. "You are _lovely."_

The dress Alice had chosen for herself— one that Bella had allowed her to take from the endless supply of small, girlish clothing she'd been given by the locals— was of pale green cotton cut in a fashionable style very similar to Bella's own dress, but without such a defined waist and with a full and covered back. Her sleeves, like Bella's were absent altogether, and that fact had made Bella feel infinitely better about her own adornment. Alice had delighted in the act of dressing— she had taken almost as much care with her own toilette as she had with Bella's, and had been openly giddy when Bella had given her free reign over her collection of combs and hair things to borrow for the occasion. Bella had watched with amused chagrin as she carefully sorted all of Bella's poorly-used tools and instruments, selecting a variety of gold and pearl pins to fasten her hair at the nape of her neck, smoothing it so completely that there was not one stray wisp out of place. The dress, and the shoes, and the hair made the child look terribly grown up, and Bella, glad to have given her some pleasure for such a momentous occasion, did not begrudge her one single hairpin.

"You will be a _sensation,"_ said Alice with relish and Bella, jolted back to the present, said nothing. "You will be an absolute _sensation…"_

A knock on the door cut her short and Bella, startled by the noise, glanced over towards the antechamber.

"Are we decent, Alice?" she queried jokingly. "Are we fit to receive?"

"Fit for Kings and paupers alike," she quipped cheekily. "It is a _feast day,_ after all."

Bella, laughing, went to open the door.

She knew who it would be before she had even touched the latch, but even still, when she pulled the door open, she felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of his handsome and crooked smile. He stood on the landing in his own party clothes— a deep green tunic tucked into tight and fitted breeches— and Bella saw with some surprise that he did not have his usual sword hanging from his belt. He beamed at her, taking her in from head to toe, and Bella turned her head away from his gaze to keep her own embarrassment away.

"Good day, Bella," he said warmly, and she stepped aside to let him through. Behind him, lingering in the shadows, was Jasper, dressed similarly to his brother, though his tunic was red, and bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

"Come in," she urged, and Jasper flashed her a winning smile before he ducked inside as well. As he always did when he came to her, he looked eagerly about the room for Alice. "Come in, and sit."

"You look lovely, Miss Bella," said Jasper before Edward had the chance to speak. His roving eyes found their mark when he spotted Alice in the shadows, and at once, his face lit up. "And you look lovely too, Miss Alice."

Alice, looking affronted and pleased in equal measure, ducked her head to hide the blush, though Bella caught it and laughed.

"She does," agreed Bella easily, and the child turned even redder. "She absolutely does… a big change from the usual uniform."

Alice, stricken dumb, said nothing at all.

"Are you done with her, Bella?" asked Jasper. "Edward says I can take her with me, if she wants to come…"

"I've finished with her, and she's free to go," said Bella at once, and Alice, astonished, snapped her head up. "If you want her, she's yours."

Alice blinked stupidly at him.

"Me?" she queried, eying her suitor with some suspicion. "What do you want with _me?"_

"To go downstairs," said Jasper mildly. "And then to go outside."

"With _me?"_

"If you want to."

"If _I_ want to?"

"I'll hardly carry you there," said Jasper tartly and Bella saw the return of the blush with a vengeance. Her cheeks went blotchy and her chin jutted out and Bella wondered for a moment whether she was going to refuse, but she simply curtseyed to Edward, hugged Bella around the waist, and walked, head held high, past Jasper to the landing, where she marched ahead of him down the long spiral staircase.

Jasper followed after her with astonished glee and Edward, laughing outright, shut the door behind them.

"He's going to have a shock with that one, I think," he said. "The girls go absolutely _wild_ for him in town, and he's chosen the one girl in the Kingdom who seems as cold as frost."

"Alice isn't _cold,"_ Bella tutted. "She's… sensible."

"A sensible woman will go far," said Edward. "If she is so, I praise her for it."

Bella took his hand, wishing to say nothing further on the subject, and led him to the sofa, pulling him quickly down beside her so that the decorative cushions fell to the floor.

"I did not come here to sit," he said mildly, though when she leaned her head against his shoulder, he did not try to move. "I came here to _fetch_ you."

"Consider me fetched," she teased. "I'm perfectly well here, for a little while."

They sat together in silence for a moment longer, each savouring the sound of the skillful music pouring in through the high, open window. Bella liked the pipes, which sounded loudest at their height, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting him rest his hand on her bare shoulder, his fingers tickling the skin near her neck.

 _Fiance._ She'd thought the word several times to herself over the past week, but no matter how hard she tried, it had not yet sunk in. This was the man she _loved_ , she thought. This was the man she would _marry_.

Bella grinned, thinking of her mother's horrified reaction if she could have ever found out that her daughter— her sensible, pragmatic, and stoic daughter— had agreed to marry a man she'd not even known for a year.

"What's so funny?" Edward teased, and Bella felt a poke on her side. She squirmed away with a laugh. "You look pleased."

"Just… thinking," she returned at once. "Nothing to signify…"

"I beg to differ," said Edward. Bella surveyed him with interest. "But if you'd rather not tell, I won't press."

"It's nothing. I'm only thinking of what my mother would say about this."

"About what?" he asked. "About this?" He tickled her side again. "Or about _this?"_

He pulled her to him— just tight enough so that she did not slip down— and she made herself relax into the hold so that he sighed, shifting her carefully so to wrap both arms about her. Bella did not answer out loud, but let her contented, happy smile speak for her.

"You don't know how I like to sit like this," he said and Bella, quite content, nodded her agreement. "You're so _warm_ , Bella…"

She felt lips on the crown of her head— soft lips, and lips that lingered just long enough to make the kiss seem a little _too_ restrained. To be fair, he had never kissed her _properly_ , something Bella had sorely lamented, but she knew that until their union was cemented by the bond of betrothal, the most she could expect was a secret embrace like the one they shared now, or perhaps a quick peck if he could be sure no one else was watching. The Maronese had strict rules about such things— they were private, and they were chaste, and Bella had learned, after some awkward and confused questioning, that it was considered a gross breach of etiquette for a man to importune a lady to whom he was not married or promised. Edward had made himself quite clear when she'd asked— if he'd been allowed he'd have kissed her silly in an instant, but as it stood now, he would be doing her a great insult to even _think_ of it.

Though Bella knew that he'd _already_ thought about it, and he'd thought about it more than once if she'd understood the glint in his eye when he thought she wasn't looking.

"I suppose," she sighed, once his face had left her hair, "that we ought to move on…"

"I suppose you're right," he said. "We _ought_ to go, though I must admit, I'm rather reluctant."

"Your people are waiting…"

" _Your_ people are waiting too," he countered. "After tonight, they will be your people as much as they are mine."

Her stomach lurched with sudden nerves. The thought of being _Queen—_ of that old-fashioned and ludicrous title being bestowed upon _her_ of all people— tied her stomach in knots. Edward, growing more familiar with her moods and humours, caught on at once and shook his head.

"It's not a problem for today," he said at once. "Not even a _concern_ for such a day as this… I've got other reasons for lingering, and they've got nothing to do with _worry."_

"Have you?"

"Indeed I do," he said. "I wanted to catch you alone… it would not do for your maid to see what I've come to do."

Bella, suddenly red-faced, sat up with such a look of astonishment that Edward had to laugh. Bella laughed too, despite her sudden queasiness, and the two fell into such a fit of giggles that she was surprised the guard outside did not poke his head in to check on them.

"You _do_ have a way with words," she said, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye. "What a thing to say!"

"I did not mean it like _that…"_ His cheeks were flushed red with amusement and shame. "I didn't mean… _that."_

"What _did_ you mean then?" she asked. "I _must_ know, now that you've gone and said it."

"I mean that it would not do for Alice to see, nor would it be right for Jasper, either. There are customs on the New Year, after all, and they must be observed."

"Customs?" Bella asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just this: I am supposed to give a gift tonight."

"I know…"

"And it is a gift for all the people."

"Right…"

"And everyone will enjoy it."

"I know that…"

"But then you see my problem," he continued. "I _can't_ give my gift to everyone in the Kingdom."

Bella blinked, confused.

"What do you mean?"

" _You're_ a part of my Kingdom," said Edward easily, "and I can hardly give you _yourself."_

Bella thought on that for a moment.

"It's gift enough to be beside _you,"_ she said, feeling foolish and small. "I don't _need_ anything else."

" _I_ am not a surprise," Edward chuckled. "Indeed… I daresay I'm more _burden_ than gift."

Bella bit her lip to keep back her retort. If there was any burden in their relationship, it was surely _she_ , who had done nothing but take since she'd arrived on the island.

"You're not a burden," she said at once. "You've never been a burden…"

"You accepted a great and troublesome burden when you agreed to be my wife," he countered at once. "You accept me, and you accept my role."

"Your role?"

"It is not mean feat, ruling a Kingdom," he said. "It is not as glamorous, or as exciting, or as simple as others seem to think."

"Nothing in life is ever glamorous, exciting, or simple," Bella countered. "It's more often than not mundane, and boring, and complicated."

"I surely hope _not,"_ laughed Edward and Bella, shaking her head, sat up straight. "I hope that there is some _excitement,_ at the very least."

"Well…" The music rang louder and Bella felt that familiar quickening of her pulse. "Maybe."

Edward breathed a deep sigh.

"I've not told Jasper," he said. "I've not told him what we're doing."

"Does he suspect?"

"He's clever," admitted Edward, "so I do not know for sure. He might _know_ , for all I can say. But he's not heard it from my lips."

"Nor mine… but _why_ haven't you told him?"

"Because he'd tell Alice," said Edward at once. "He's sweet on her, you know…"

Bella stifled a grin.

"He'd tell her, if she asked, and I know full well that she _will_ ask, because she's cornered him already to hear what he knows."

"She's very curious…"

"She's very _persistent,"_ he laughed. "That child has sent my brother into an absolute frenzy. Do you know… I've caught him lurking more than once, trying to listen on my private conversations?"

"He's been spying?"

"He's been _trying,"_ corrected Edward with a snort. "He's clever, I'll give him that, but he's not a _sneak."_

"I see…"

"He listened all the while I was talking to Lorenzo after the council meeting yesterday," he went on. "Sitting in the shadows beside a column as if for all the world we couldn't see him. Luckily, I was only discussing a _vendor_ , so there was nothing to tell…"

"How do you know he was _spying?"_

"Because he told me so when I asked him," he answered at once. "He's many things, my brother, but rarely a liar."

Edward grinned down at her.

"Alice put him up to it," he continued. "He told me that too. I don't blame the girl— she's only a child, after all— but it does amuse me to see him so enamoured."

"She's a sweet thing," said Bella loyally. "A good, sweet girl."

"I don't doubt it…"

"Not _cold_ at all," she went on. "Only _kind."_

"To _you,_ at least," said Edward sagely. "I overheard them at dinner… I don't think she's got a bit of use for _any_ man, let alone Jasper."

Bella laughed again and sighed, leaning her head back against the sofa cushion. Alice had told her about the life she'd lived before she'd lost her family— growing up with brothers had made her rather hardy, and Bella was sure that the tender, well-bred prince had never encountered such a rival in all his thirteen years.

"She'll make him run, I'm sure," said Bella finally, and Edward shook with mirth. "She'll lead him on a merry chase."

"Good," replied Edward. "He _needs_ a challenge. It's about time someone taught him that the world is _not_ his oyster."

"Poor boy…" Bella shook her head in sympathy. "He's a _kind_ child too, Edward, even if you don't see it…"

"Kind to you, undoubtedly," agreed Edward merrily. "Kind to everyone else? Not quite."

Bella did not argue, no matter how badly she felt the urge, and though she knew that _he_ knew she had more to say, neither of them commented further.

"I did not wait here to talk of Jasper either," said Edward finally, after a long moment of silence. "I began to say…"

"You talk of gifts," said Bella. "I do not _need_ gifts…"

"No one _needs_ gifts," he countered tartly. "That's the very nature of the word. They are unnecessary."

"And so why bother?"

"Because I _want_ to," he said. "And because I think it's right."

"I've nothing to give _you,"_ she countered, rather shamefaced. "I've nothing in the world that you might need…"

A peculiar look crossed his face in an instant and Bella, feeling awkward and uncouth, watched it flicker. Had he been any other man she might have taken it as annoyance— a peculiar flash of brightness about his eyes, a tension around his mouth, and a sharp breath that ghosted across her hands, which were held tight beneath his bent head to stop their fidgeting. When he finally replied he spoke slowly and deliberately and Bella, for her part, took it all in without comment.

"A gift is not about _need,_ Bella," he said. "I do not give the people what they _need._ I give them what they _want._ It is not _my_ day to receive gifts— especially not from _you—_ but understand me well when I say that you have _everything_ in the world that I might _want."_

She understood his meaning without having to ask and felt a smile at the corners of her mouth, despite her best efforts to keep it away.

"Today is my day for giving," he continued. "Not yours. And so…" He glanced towards the door, trailing off into silence.

"And so?" she prompted. His attention, diverted towards the closed antechamber door, snapped back to her at once. He grinned again, a little less sure of himself, and carefully extricated his arms from behind her back.

She felt the loss at once and mourned the warmth, but was immediately curious when he moved to stand.

"I've brought you something that I hope you'll like," he said finally, and Bella, too, stood up. "It's… not entirely _conventional,_ but it _is_ something I hope you'll enjoy."

"I don't need a gift," she said again, though her protest was feeble now. "I don't _need…"_

"No, but I hope you'll love it anyways," said Edward indulgently. "Close your eyes."

And Bella, suspicious, curious, but dutiful, did as she was bid.

The dark behind her eyelids made everything seem louder. She heard Edward breathing, not far from her, before he sighed, and she heard the shuffling of feet on the wooden floor. She stayed where she was, hands up around her face to prevent herself from spoiling the surprise by peeking, and she listened as the door was opened, words were exchanged on the landing, and Edward's voice called out:

" _Bring it in!"_

What noise she heard after that, Bella could not be sure.

The floor outside the bedroom, on the landing of the antechamber, was not made of wood like the floor of the bedroom. It was stone— cold, hard, unforgiving stone— and as Bella waited in suspense in the dark, she heard a curious noise from the space outside. It sounded like _grinding—_ like something hard and heavy being pulled across the ancient rock, until there was a clatter and a squeak, and something rolled smoothly over the warmer, polished wood.

It rattled. It clanged. It squeaked— a strange, high squeak that sometimes turned into a squeal— and it rustled. She heard metal on metal, and metal on wood. She heard scratching, as if someone ran their fingernail over the wooden surface of a varnished table, and there was _dripping—_ a slow _drip, drip, drip_ that changed to a _plop_ when whatever the thing was came to an abrupt halt to her left.

She stayed like that— eyes covered and bewildered by sound— until she heard a cry, and she was so startled that her hands dropped from her eyes and she stumbled back, blinking in utter shock at the thing before her.

"Surprise," said Edward, standing nervously in the doorway to the landing as she surveyed the great, heavy golden cage, in which was perched a small, soft, fluffy green bird.

Bella blinked in astonished surprise at this tiny little thing, with its bright orange beak and glossy black claws. The creature stood atop his wooden perch, eying her with friendly black eyes like great, shining buttons, and when she let out her breath, unable to help the small, appreciative noise in the back of her throat, the little creature chirruped.

"It's a male," said Edward as Bella approached the bars, delighted when the fledgling scampered up the side of the cage to greet her. His head cocked and his feathers ruffled he chirped again, pressing his feathered cheek to the place where her fingers rested. Bella had never had a pet bird— had never been this close or this familiar with one of his kind— but when that little soft head touched the pad of her finger she pressed it through the bars to scratch, letting him bend his neck this way and that to press her fingers to his most favourite spots.

"He's got no name." Edward spoke from just behind her, watching their greeting with pleasure. "We thought we'd leave it up to you," he said.

The bird chirped again, his sharp, orange beak nibbling at her fingernail and she turned to him, her heart hammering.

"Is he…" She stammered, unable to speak the way she wanted to. "You mean… he's…"

"He is _yours,_ if you want him," said Edward softly. "I know it is a great responsibility, to give you a pet, but he is hand-raised and he's quite friendly. He's very used to people."

"He's _lovely,"_ Bella gushed, feeling the colour rising in her neck. "He's _gorgeous."_

"He is my gift to you, if you'll have him," he said again, this time with more confidence. "He's one of our own, from the castle roost. He was chosen especially from the newest hatchlings by the keeper…"

"For me?" She bent down to face the bird, who had lost interest in her fingers and was now aggressively preening himself. "You got him… for me?"

"I _chose_ him for you," said Edward. "Do you like him?"

"I _love_ him," Bella said at once. "He's absolutely beautiful!"

"So you'll take him?" asked Edward anxiously. "He's been hand-trained, and they're quite intelligent…"

Bella, having absolutely no doubt in her head, immediately turned to embrace him. The guard at the door— the one who'd helped carry up the great, heavy cage— turned in embarrassment, but Bella was unperturbed and unmoved. Edward relaxed the moment her arms touched him— she hadn't even realized he'd been tense— and he enveloped her so completely that Bella's voice was muffled by the green fabric at his collar. His hands, steady and warm, pressed into the bare skin of her back.

"Thank you," she said. The little bird whistled at them. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

* * *

When they walked out into the dazzling afternoon sun, Bella let the nervous flutters in her stomach erupt into a flock of butterflies that beat their tiny wings. Edward held fast to her hand, his fingers squeezing reassuringly when he felt her tremble, and they moved past the servants, who stared, and the guards, who grinned, to the portcullis gate that led to Market Street, beyond which lay a veritable bounty of colour and sound, blurred by the dust kicked up by the thousands of feet that crowded the road.

"Are you ready?" asked Edward.

Bella only nodded.

"Then come," he said. "If we play our cards right, we might _just_ blend in."

Bella highly doubted it.

When the gate was opened and two guards went out ahead of them Bella saw with resignation how heads turned at once towards the palace, and fell immediately to their clasped hands. Edward smiled at her, completely unperturbed by the attention, and Bella, determined to have a good time, held her chin up high.

"That's the spirit," he chuckled. "Now come along. There is much to see."

Together they walked, hand-in-hand, down the long, busy street lined with carts and stalls. Shaded awnings kept the sunlight off of the road, and though it was still warm and dry, it was much cooler than it might have been without the shade. Bodies were packed along the road— stalls were overwhelmed by buyers, coins were spilled upon the dirt. Voices shouted into the din, haggling and bartering for better prices or quality fruits, and Bella, jostled by some scampering children, laughed when Edward's hand shot out to keep her upright.

His concern for her, however, was ultimately needless, as when people saw their King and his companion they made way at once, forcing their giddy and scrambling children to the side to allow him passage through the street.

"They're staring," said Bella in an undertone, and Edward glanced mildly about. It was true— whichever stall they passed would stop its sale, heads turned and necks craned to catch a glimpse of their monarch. They bowed to him— low, deep, respectful bows that he acknowledged in turn— and when they noticed _her,_ they gave her an odd little dip that made her cheeks turn pink.

"Let them stare away," said Edward without care. "They'll have a lot more to say about it by the end of the night."

Bella supposed this was true, and she made up her mind right then and there to put her embarrassment out of her mind.

They walked down the street together, taking in the sights and smells of the market stalls with relish and interest. Edward bought her a sweet bun— the very kind that Lessie made in the castle kitchens— and she learned very quickly that when she was watched so carefully by the passing crowds, she also had a lot of influence over the traffic of the street.

Edward had known this— he told Bella so after watching her astonishment at the flood of patrons to the sweet bun seller immediately after their departure. No sooner had she bitten into the pastry, grateful for the handkerchief in her small bag to wipe her sticky fingers, had tens and hundreds flocked to the stall in a great crowd, filling the seller's coffer in ten minutes flat. Bella watched the bewildered and delighted woman cram silver and gold coins into her purse and her cashbox, until there was no more room and no more buns to sell and she became the first vendor to close up shop before two hours had passed.

Similar things happened along the way. Edward, much to Bella's chagrin, was only too happy to plunk down coin for anything she so much as _looked_ at, much less delighted in. She protested this— protested the glass vase, the white and pink plumeria plant, the coconut bird toy for her waiting pet, and the honeyed seed stick with a clip to hang from the cage bars— but no matter how she argued, he would not relent.

"It is my _joy_ to treat you," he whispered, bending his head so close to her ear that only she could hear. The owner of the pet supply stall was an elderly lady with tanned, wrinkled hands and an abundance of freckles on her lined and weathered face, and her eyes bugged out of her head when she saw his face so close to hers. In response to this happening, and to Bella's deep and unrelenting amusement, she slapped her walking stick on her wooden table so loudly that Edward jumped. She did not descend into outright rudeness— even for her, that would have been a great breach of etiquette— but she eyed him so ferociously with her rheumy, blue eyes that Edward took a respectful step back and offered her another coin made of solid, shining gold to placate her.

The woman harrumphed, eying the gold with disgust.

"You'd better pay it to _her,"_ she groused, patting Bella on the hand. "You do right by _her_ , young man."

And she slipped the coin into Bella's purse, where it clinked against the others laying at the bottom.

After that, Edward was more careful.

They walked for what felt like hours, though Bella never grew tired or bored. They passed food stalls where local cooks prepared all kinds of fare. Skewered meats cooked on great, open fires and vegetables roasted on stone grills. Bella tasted most of it, though she rarely had to _purchase_ any, and before they were halfway down the road she was stuffed to the gills and her dress was uncomfortably tight.

They sat together on a wooden bench, well off the road in the shadow of a great, clay house. They watched the great, blue birds who were disturbed by the noise and the foot traffic, and they watched the people in all their party regalia, laughing and shouting as they moved through the streets.

Far from being alone, Bella saw many other women dressed in similar clothes to the ones she wore. The colours were vibrant— hot pink, brilliant green, deep purple, and sunset orange, like flocks of great jungle birds in the middle of the city. They were all as scanty as hers— gone were the long, modest sleeves, replaced instead by bare arms and necks, low-cut fronts, and even a few slitted skirts, revealing long expanses of white legs. Girls walked with other girls, thronged together in giggling groups that blocked the road, and some of the older ones walked with beaus. Bella saw more than one young couple together, not daring to touch so much as a finger, always chaperoned by a sober-looking father or brother.

"Is that normal?" Bella asked, sipping a flute of sweet lemonade and gesturing slyly to the awkward young couple in front of them. "For them to go out like that?"

"Very usual," said Edward at once. He grinned impishly at her. "I daresay we are quite _improper_ by normal standards."

At once, Bella felt self-conscious.

"Improper?"

"Don't fret," he said at once, and she felt his fingers tickle the back of her neck. "We're quite old enough to make up our own minds."

Bella glanced again at the couple. The girl looked no older than sixteen— she still had some childhood roundness about her— and the boy was tall and gangly, and his feet had grown too quickly for the rest of him.

"Are we _old,_ Edward?" she asked with sudden and giddy amusement. The thought made her chuckle. "Are we _spinsters?"_

He snorted.

"Perhaps," he said, "although I've never heard of a _male_ spinster. Esme and Carlisle were considered old in their time, too…"

"How old were they?"

"Twenty or so," Edward shrugged. "Well out of childhood."

" _Well out,"_ Bella said scathingly. "They barely know who they even _are_ at that age…"

Edward shot her a peculiar look.

"That's the point, isn't it?" he asked. "It's not often that we know ourselves before we _complete_ ourselves."

"Complete?"

Again, his look was odd.

"That's what _marriage_ is," he said, whispering the fateful word so that the nearest travellers did not hear. "A kind of completion."

"So we're not… complete?" she queried. "Is that what the custom says?"

"I don't know if that's a custom," he replied, "but it is a _belief."_

"I see…"

"Marriage is a joining," he said. "A beginning and an end. The beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning."

Bella laughed outright.

"You sound like a poet," she accused.

"Poets are clever and honest," defended Edward. "I strive to be honest in all things and so long as _you_ think me clever, I'll be a happy man."

Bella kept quiet, fighting the urge to grin.

"I _do_ think you're clever," Bella conceded, though she did not meet his eye when he turned it on her with imperious amusement. "But if you tell anyone I said so, I'll deny it until my dying day."

He laughed at her— a loud, quaking laugh that made more than one passerby turn to look— and she buried her face in his sleeve to keep the eyes away from her.

"Come on, Bella," he chuckled, and she felt him pulling on her hand as he stood. "Let's move on. You've not even heard the music yet, and they're only just warming up."

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur of activity and gluttony, and by the time Edward had led her back to the main pavillion she was so warm and tired that she felt almost feverish.

They'd watched the musicians together from a coveted spot right beside the wooden dais that had been erected next to a fountain at the centre of town. They'd sampled fine island ale and warm, honeyed wine from great vats in pubs and inns. She'd tasted more Maronese delicacies— pastries, meats, stews, soups, cakes, breads, fruits, and juices— more than she could have ever eaten in a whole week. They played silly games together, varieties of which Bella knew well from carnivals and fairs in her own land. Games like ring toss, which had won her a twisted silver bangle, and a new and complicated game involving balls and labyrinths and gears. She had not won at that— not even Edward had managed to solve it— but she'd slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and there it still sat, shining and cool.

They'd run into friends on their travels— Esme and Carlisle, arm in arm at the music show, and Alice and Jasper leading a band of merry children on a frantic game of chase. The children had procured masks— great, colourful things bedecked with jewels and feathers and beads— and Edward had told her that it was only a small part of a much-loved custom.

"They take sweets," he had explained, pointing to an unassuming bowl of candied nuts at the base of one stall. "Most of the sellers put them out."

As she watched, two dusty, masked rascals had snuck from an alleyway to reach their greedy hands into the bowl, coming away with a handful apiece. The stall owner only laughed a great, noisy chuckle that made other adults turn to see, and the children had scampered like criminals on the run with wild hoots and hollers. Bella saw one boy trip over a pothole, sending half of his haul scattering to the ground for the birds, but he neither noticed nor cared as he leapt behind a crate and began to pick the dirt out of the rest of it.

Alice, Bella saw, had found a mask of pale violet silk. Jasper had none— his face was as ruddy and bare as it had been that same morning— but he only beamed at them when they crossed paths, grinning impishly as he popped a sweet into his own mouth.

"Not so surly now, is he?" Bella had commented, recalling her peculiar conversation with him on her way home from Rosalie's house. "He seems to be enjoying himself."

It was not long after that that they'd met up with Rosalie, and though they'd had to squint against the light to make her out, there was no mistaking her golden hair and the great roundness of her belly. Bella had wondered if she would come— it was a hard bargain when she was so close to her time— but Bella was at once delighted and nervous to see her friend, for they had not parted on very friendly terms. Bella wanted to speak to her— wanted to mend the fences that had been kicked down the last time they were together— but she had stopped dead in her tracks halfway down the road when she saw just what had distracted her friend from the business of the party.

Whatever they had expected to see, it was not the sight that greeted them now. Rosalie was there, there was no doubt about it, but so was another particular friend of theirs, his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss that earned them catcalls from a group of teenage boys, all while unsuspecting Finn chased koi fish in the duck pond at their backs.

When Edward laughed outright they pulled apart at once, Rosalie so startled that she almost fell backwards into the water and Emmett jumping up like a shot, as if he'd been caught at some illicit mischief.

Rosalie eyed Bella with a pained grimace, looking for all the world as if she'd like that duck pond to swallow her whole, but Bella, jubilant in her own triumph, was kind enough to say nothing.

The fence was mended with only a look and Bella, driven by a grateful happiness for her friend and a pompous delight at her sound assumptions, embraced her without question.

The coming of sunset did not take long after that, and before Bella had a chance to gain her bearings she was being led away again, this time to that wooden dais at the centre of town where the musicians had played. Together with Edward, who pulled her happily along, they followed the slow, trundling march of the crowd, all of whom were flocking to the stage where the King would give his gift.

They reached the stage just as the last of the sunlight disappeared over the mountains in the west and Edward, hauling himself up on the torchlit platform, was immediately greeted by a volley of cheers.

"I thank you!" he called, and Bella, watching from the shadows at his back, felt suddenly and violently shy. "I thank you _all!"  
_

The crowd roared again. Bella stared out into the innumerable faces— men, women, children, all but a few completely unfamiliar to her— and her breath caught in her throat. She scanned that crowd, looked at as many eager faces as she could see, and though they sprawled well beyond her line of sight into the darkness of the streets and alleys, she knew, without being sure _how_ she did, that each and every ear was tuned to Edward's voice.

"It is only my second New Year as King, but I hope that it has been as jolly as the first!"

Another roar. The men nearest the stage thumped their fists against the wood in approval.

"You have all waited eagerly, I know, for what your gift will be. My father gave you many gifts, not the least of which you see before you here tonight…"

Laughter rang and heads turned to stare at Jasper, too, who flushed red and shrugged, watching his brother from the edge of the platform. Edward winked at him and he grinned, ducking his head down.

Bella saw Alice squeeze his arm.

"...and I hope that you will see such gifts here again!"

This promise, which made the elders clap, made the younger guests hoot and whistle.

"Last year, I gave you coin…"

Another rousing cry.

"And as you know, your King cannot give the same gift twice."

The cries died down.

"I give you something this year that will last a _lifetime,"_ Edward said, and as his voice went lower, so did the noise from the crowd. They listened anxiously, the King's words repeated in whispers to the furthest reaches of the group, and though Bella heard the first few whispers clearly, as it travelled it sounded like a strange, scintillating hiss.

Her heart pounded behind her ribs.

In the sudden hush that followed Bella saw Edward hesitate, and then pause. He turned his face away from the crowd, letting the torches cast his long, silhouetted shadow across the platform, and a cold breeze ran across the group, causing a great, collective shiver. Edward, though, did not show weakness, and instead reached his hand into the darkness where she stood, and she took him up at once, letting him twine his warm fingers so familiarly with hers. She shivered with cold and sudden fright, but his reassuring squeeze gave her enough nerve to be just what he needed her to be in that final, fateful moment.

"Last year I gave you gold," began Edward. The crowd, having noticed how he reached out behind, seemed to hold its collective breath. "But this year, I give you _silver!"_

His gentle hand pulled on hers and Bella, with a terrible slowness that made her pulse race and her eyes swim, stepped out into the blinding torchlight that swamped the stage. The faces disappeared in the glow, their shapes melting one into the other until they became one great swaying mass of darkness and colour, but the astonished silence that followed felt long enough to last forever. Her dress, almost glowing in the firelight, was a beacon in the dark,

Bella held her breath while Edward spoke again.

"I give you _silver_ ," he repeated, and she felt his fingers on the strap of her shimmering gown. "I give you the promise of our future, for _this_ year, I will give you a _Queen!"_

A beat of silence, a quick, collective inhale, and finally, after what felt like an age, a roaring, bellowing noise that made her eyes brim up and her knees go weak. Edward felt it— he turned to her with a radiant joy that reflected the exultant rumpus on the ground below— and he held her close, his cheek pressed to hers as her tears fell over, falling like dewdrops to the polished wood below.

"I give them a _Queen,_ " he whispered to her, his breath hot against her cheek. "I give them a Queen, and I give you my kingdom."

 **A/N: I know I must sound like a broken record at this point, but once again, thank you all so much for your seemingly infinite patience. I've updated a bit on Twitter about why we're late, but for those of you who don't follow me over there this chapter gave me** _ **quite**_ **a bit of trouble. It didn't** _ **want**_ **to be written, and I had all kinds of nosy neighbours popping their heads in where they didn't belong (Carlisle** _ **really**_ **wanted to interfere, but I made him keep out of it). In the end, I** _ **think**_ **I got everyone to do what I wanted them to do without dragging on** _ **too**_ **much, and we'll pick up next chapter right where this one leaves off.**

 **I've also forgotten to leave a note at the end of a chapter telling you that a few weeks ago, I uploaded some castle floor plans to my photo gallery for this story on my Weebly site ( .com). The plans don't include** _ **everything,**_ **but it's a basic layout of where things are and how you can get there (all** _ **major**_ **passageways, hallways, and rooms are included, though some secret/minor passages and such have** _ **not**_ **been included). If you're at all interested in the creation process, the plans were created using an iOS app called "Draft Paper", which worked quite well for what I wanted to do.**

 **Thanks again, and happy November!**


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

His whisper was shattered by an ear-splitting whoop. Dazzled by the noise that pricked at her ears like little stinging bees, Bella wheeled around and felt the edges of her mouth curl up in a smile as she spotted the tall, lanky boy that pushed through the crowd with immovable determination.

She could barely hear him over the din. Feet, stomping and banging against ground and wood, made the whole platform shake. Fists pounded approval on the stage. Faces, obscured by darkness, flashed into clarity as they moved closer to the light. Beyond the glow, Bella saw a flash of silver where a soldier was standing, trying to push his way up to the dais. Women shouted. Men hooted. Children, half-mad with a glee that they did not quite understand, ran wild through legs and feet, scampering to and fro in a frenzy of chaos and noise. She heard Edward's laughter— felt his shaking arms pull her away from the edge of the stage where probing fingers stretched out to touch any bit of her they could reach— and she went gratefully. Prying fingers became groping hands, and just as the boy leapt up onto the stage Bella saw the soldiers arrive, blocking those grasping hands from getting any closer. Their presence did not deter the people— indeed, Bella saw more than one brazen well-wisher reach his fingers _around_ the soldiers, only to have his hand slapped away and his place taken by another, better-behaved reveler.

"You never said a _word!"_ Jasper bellowed and Bella watched as the boy's fist struck out like a snake to bite Edward's arm. Edward, unmoved by this violence, only laughed. "You didn't tell me a _thing!"_

Edward spoke back, grinning and glad, but his reply was lost in the tumult of noise. Jasper scowled at his brother, though without any real malice, and turned instead to Bella, who let herself be drawn into the circle of his arms without protest.

He was almost as tall as his brother, though still too lanky and long, and he squeezed Bella with more unabashed enthusiasm than Edward would have dared before all of these spectators. He thumped her back hard enough to make her wince and pull away with a grimace, only to have him throw her a roguish wink, clutching her hand instead.

The wild crowd was fed another bit of their happiness when Jasper held up their joined hands in triumph, making the crescendo of noise rise even higher. Bella let him do it— let him revel in the joyful attention of his people for just a moment longer— before she carefully extricated herself and let Edward pull her back.

"I am _very_ glad," said Jasper, leaning down to her ear. Edward laughed again. "I am very, very, _very_ glad…"

Bella knew he would be. She had known it since the moment her decision was made. She had known it long ago, in the throne room of the castle, when the two of them had been brought before the King, one for a reprieve and the other for a reprimand.

" _She is not ours, Jasper…"_ Edward had said. _"She is not ours."_

" _But she_ could _be…"_

And now, she _would_ be.

The noise and confusion was such that Bella, thinking back on that night in the days that followed, was not entirely certain how they had managed to step down from the stage. All around them people thronged, gawking, shouting, or reaching out hands in desperate supplication. As they had before, when she'd left the city for Carlisle's cabin, they touched the hem and skirt of her gown. Children pressed countless sticky kisses to her hands and fingers. Bodies crowded so close that she could not see the road ahead. But leave the platform they did, descending the stairs beside the fountain to walk in and among the crowd, who, while drawn to the attraction of their King and his intended, began to disperse somewhat as the torches behind them were finally put out.

Bella could not say how far they walked. She did not know how _long_ they walked. She only knew that they _did_ walk, through streets, and squares, and alleys, until they came upon a plaza that she had never seen before where there were the beginnings of a great and raucous party.

During the daytime, the King's New Year had been about merrimaking. Girls dressed in their finest to buy from market stalls, and young, eager couples went chaperoned through the streets, desperate to catch a spare moment alone. Children ran wild, unsupervised by parents yet somehow safe beneath the eyes of salesmen, neighbours, and fellow revellers who ensured that no real mischief was undertaken by the small fry. Friendship was the focus and food made up the soul, and such a bountiful array of company and flavour Bella had never experienced before or after.

But at night, when the sun went down, there was another kind of party altogether.

Edward, grinning like a lovestruck fool, did not release her hand the whole time they walked. Bella was grateful for it— the city at night was a dazzling place and though she'd walked the main streets many times in daylight, there was a disorienting unfamiliarity about it once the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. Long shadows cast roads into blackness where friendly stalls and sellers had stood not hours before. Children, scampering underfoot until they were caught by frazzled parents, were returned to cabins and homes with bright eyes and pockets full of candied sweets. For them, the day of fun was ended. Masks were set aside, dirty hands and faces scrubbed with soap and warm, soft cloths. Nightclothes were donned, hair was brushed and plaited, and finally, after a celebratory mug of hot, sweet tea, the little ones were sent to bed where they slept soundly and dreamed of other feasts to come.

While they walked Bella had watched the children trickle away. Babes in arms, toddlers on shoulders or hips, and older children— some walking and alert, others fast asleep in Father's arms— all disappeared into the warmth of home. Some of the older children, among the youngest of whom were Alice and Jasper, were allowed to stay out with the grown ups, and Bella did not miss how they seemed to delight in this fact.

In the square, where the remaining adults were gathering, there was another kind of fun brewing.

The square was long and narrow, lined on either side by closed-up shops that catered to the wealthy patrons of the city's west end. Here, the ground was not only packed dirt and rocks, but polished cobblestones buffed smooth and level upon which someone had built up three massive, billowing fires. Though they were large, they were well clear of any buildings that might be damaged or threatened, and though they were only newly set, they blazed with a stunning brilliance that warmed the rapidly cooling nighttime air. Bella watched in amazement, unaware of Edward's fond and curious gaze on her, and let the brilliance wash over her like a baptism of light that cleansed any tiredness from her sore and weary bones.

Three armfuls of wood were tossed on the nearest pyre and Bella gasped aloud, watching as the bright and familiar orange became at once green and purple and blue.

"Driftwood," said Edward in an undertone, bending close to her ear. "The sea water makes the fire change colours. Do you like it?"

"It's lovely," said Bella, thinking at once of the same green glow she'd seen on the sands of First Beach. "I used to have fires like this when I was little."

This small shared memory— so fleeting and monumental in its own way— made both of them grin like fools. They stood by it together, letting the warmth wash away the chill of night, and when they were both pink-faced and hot to the touch, they stepped reluctantly away. Bella held her cool hands to her overheated cheeks, feeling the redness recede as the plaza began to fill with people trickling in from the large, stone roads on either end.

"There are drinks," said Edward, pointing to a stall lined with torches that had only just been lit. Already there were men thronging around it and coins littering the counter. "And there will be more food, once the music starts…"

Bella, despite her blooming college education, had never, in her whole life, set foot inside a college party. She had been _invited,_ of course— she was not so much of an antisocial recluse that she'd never been asked out for drinks and music— but she was too studious, too wary, to take anyone up on it. She had walked by houses that throbbed in time with an upbeat pop song, and by frat houses all decked out with lewd banners and signs. She'd been by pubs, where old men drank beer and listened to country songs, and by nightclubs where Seattle's elite lined up around the block for their chance at some fun. She'd had wine with dinner, and dinner with friends, but never, in all her life, had Bella seen anything to rival this moonlit plaza filled with colours and light and smells.

He walked her to the bar stall, where the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Edward hardly noticed the way the eyes tracked them, bowing deeply until the pair of them had passed, and although he tried to pay for his drink and hers, the bartender would not have it.

"Bah!" cried the man, and he flipped Edward's gold coin away with a grimace. "Bah!"

Edward, already drunk on his own cheer, laughed out loud.

"I must pay you," he reasoned, pushing the little coin back. The barman recoiled as if there was a bad smell. "I can't drink your wine if you refuse to take payment!"

"Celebrate!" hollered the man, and the crowd behind them hooted and cheered. "It is a celebration, My King!"

"Here, man…"

"Celebrate!"

He thrust a wooden cup at Edward so quickly that its scarlet contents sloshed over the rim and dripped onto Edward's fingers. Edward brought the brimming cup to his lips and drank some, ignoring the red, sticky trail it left on his hands. For Bella, the man poured a yellow, fruity wine that smelled of pears and coconut, and he did not thrust it at her as he had to Edward, but let her take it shyly in two hands before she took an experimental sip.

The wine was cooler than she'd expected it to be, and that coolness felt wonderful as it slid across her tongue. She did not know where the wine was from, nor what fruits had gone into its making, but the taste was light and sweet, like someone had trapped sunshine in a cup. The bubbles surprised her— she had not tasted anything remotely like carbonation during her time on the island, and though they tickled her mouth and made her nose wrinkle, she drank nearly half her cup in one great gulp.

Edward laughed at her, eying her with deep amusement.

"If you keep that up," he said, "you'll be dead drunk before midnight. And I must say… I've no desire for you to miss _anything_ that's going to happen here tonight."

Already Bella felt a flush of warmth across her chest and arms.

As they moved back towards the fires, away from the bar crowded with guests, Bella and Edward wandered into the far side of the pavillion, away from the noise and hubbub and towards the two small figures standing near the furthest fire, heads bent and lips whispering.

"Jasper," Edward said and the children glanced up in tandem. Jasper was awash with undisguised pleasure, and he leapt forward at once to draw Bella into another tight embrace. Edward took her cup just in time to stop him spilling it, and he winked playfully at Alice who watched their exchange with shy and quiet eyes.

"Finally, a _sister,"_ said Jasper with relish. Bella giggled at the relief in his voice. "Finally a real, actual _sister."_

"A _real_ one?" she queried, raising a questioning brow. "Do you have… imaginary ones?"

"Tens and dozens," said Jasper cheerfully. "We always wanted a sister, didn't we, Ed?"

"Perhaps in days long past," he agreed. "But _I_ will gain no such thing."

"Bully for me, then," teased Jasper. "All the better for _me."_

Bella, glad to feel both wanted and appreciated, pressed a quick kiss to the apple of his cheek. Jasper froze, astonished at this development, and blinked so stupidly at her that she had to laugh outright. He touched the spot with the pads of his fingers, looking dumbstruck, and Edward snickered wickedly from behind. Bella turned to him with a frown, but her silent scolding had no effect whatsoever.

Edward was unmoved by either her scorn or Jasper's embarrassment. He simply chortled, letting Bella take her cup once more, and turned instead to Alice.

"Did my brother treat you well?" he asked kindly and the child nodded, turning red.

"He did, My King."

"Was he kind?"

"Very."

"And gentlemanly?"

At once, Bella saw Alice's face flame red.

"Indeed he _was,_ " she said softly, and Bella, her curiosity piqued, cocked her head. Alice met her gaze for only a moment, looking both proud and shameful, but offered no other comment.

Bella filed this away for later, but said nothing of it before either of the men.

"You be good to her, you hear?" Edward said, turning his eye on Jasper. Jasper, looking affronted, did not respond. "I'm _trusting_ you, Jasper. Make sure you do me proud."

At once, Bella saw Jasper stand up a little straighter. He eyed his brother with a maturity that she hadn't seen from him before, and the two of them turned to look at little Alice. Bella felt a prickle of pity for her— beneath the staring, serious gazes of both King and Prince she seemed to wither, shrinking down so far that she almost disappeared into the shadows.

"Honestly," said Bella, reaching out to take the girl's hand. Alice latched on at once, her fingers quivering. "You scare her half to death."

Edward had the good grace to look away. Jasper, however, stepped closer.

"Not afraid, are you Ali?" he asked. Alice shook her head defiantly. "I didn't think so…"

The trembling fingers on Bella's hand told a different story, but Bella had no wish to embarrass the girl. When Alice released her Bella let her go, watching as she stepped closer to the Prince, though not so close so as to be inappropriate.

"Can we drink, Ed?" asked Jasper in the quiet and Edward, snapped out of some inexplicable daydream, took the question in. He eyed the two of them— not quite children, but not quite grown— and looked askance at Bella.

"Don't ask me," she said at once, holding up her hands in surrender. "I've got no opinion on the matter…"

"Alice is under _your_ charge," Edward reasoned. "It is up to _you_ what she is and isn't allowed to do."

Bella glanced at him, surprised by this opinion.

"She's the agent of her own free will," Bella replied. "If she wants a drink, and it is permissible to you, then I don't object."

"Permissible to _me?"_

"Allowed," Bella frowned. "Permitted… _legal."_

"I know what _permissible_ means."

"Then I don't understand the question," Bella finished. "If you will allow it, then…"

" _I_ do not have the authority," Edward said with a funny little frown and a chuckle that was the product of his own strong wine. _"I_ cannot decide what is best for her."

"And I can?"

"She is _your_ charge."

 _Her_ charge. Bella glanced at Alice, who watched her with wide, nervous eyes. The child looked uncomfortable, as if she were not quite sure who she should be asking, and all at once Bella felt a renewed sense of great responsibility.

"When do children drink wine here?" Bella asked and Edward, still holding on to his funny little frown, shrugged his shoulders.

"Some start young, others not at all," he said. "It depends on the parent…"

"Is _he_ allowed a drink?" Bella asked, jerking her chin at Jasper. He, unlike Alice, was completely unperturbed by this strange exchange of words, and instead bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. Edward eyed him cautiously, as if sizing up whether he were truly ready for such a grown-up entitlement, and seemed to hesitate over his decision.

"Oh come on…" Jasper pleaded, his lip between his teeth. "We're _more_ than old enough…"

Edward sighed.

"I suppose you are," he conceded finally, and Jasper looked as if he would leap with joy. He snatched Alice by the hand. "But only _a few,_ mind you… you're not to get drunk, you hear?"

"Not drunk," agreed Jasper. "Only a few…"

He was already walking away.

"And you stay with her!" Edward called after him. "If I hear you've left her, you'll be in trouble there aren't words for!"

But before he could finish Jasper was gone, disappearing into the crowd so that the final words of Edward's warning fell on deaf ears. Bella watched them go, his light head towering over Alice's dark one, until they became two moving spots within a sea of movement and colour, lost among the bodies that flocked at the distant end.

"He's half wild, that boy," complained Edward once they were left alone again. Bella sipped her wine. "He hardly stands still long enough to hear sense."

"He's just a boy," Bella reasoned, and she turned her head up to survey him. He was not looking at her— a rare and unusual occurrence— and Bella took a moment to look at _him_ , instead. Her head was leaning against him on that junction between arm and chest and she had to strain her neck to see. In the flickering firelight she could see the line of his jaw, so square and hard, and the line of fine, reddish whiskers where he'd stopped his shaving knife. Beneath his chin, where the sun did not touch him, was white, soft, and smooth, such a contrast to his tanned and ruddy cheeks that she almost reached up to run her finger across his throat. She _did_ resist, though, for she knew that he was ticklish, and settled instead for reaching up and around his broad and heavy chest. Her hand snuck around his back instead, her arm reaching as far as it would go until it rested on his waist, leaving her pressed snugly to his warm, soft tunic.

When he felt her fingers his gaze snapped away from the crowd, turning instead to her as she lay comfortably against him, her arm about his waist.

"We'd shock people, if they saw us so close," he said after a long moment, though he made no move to pull away. "They'd think me quite a rogue."

"And what would they say of _me?"_ she asked, tilting her head back up. Her face was close to his— closer than it had ever been before— and she could smell the hot, heady wine on his breath. He blinked at her, a playful glint dancing in the green of his eyes, and she saw him swallow before he let out a deep and noisy sigh.

"They'd say you were a _saint,"_ he said, and she felt him reach around to touch the arm about his waist. He disentangled her fingers from his tunic— slid them one by one into the palm of his own hand— and when he pulled her arm away altogether she felt the quick and bitter sting of rejection.

He saw it at once, catching the flicker of shame and embarrassment that crossed her face in an instant, and squashed it before it had the chance to root.

"No," he said, and he brought her fingers to his lips. She shivered— his lips were warm, and her hands were cold, and he lingered there for a moment longer than he ought to, leaving a scalding, burning spot where his mouth had touched.

"I'd keep you here for an eternity if I thought I could get away with it," he murmured, holding her fingers to his face. Bella, without quite knowing how she did, heard a soft and quiet longing in his gentle words. It sounded like _want_ , like a deep and desperate _yearning_ for something close, yet unattainable, and with a thrill that shook her from her head to her toes, she knew instinctively just what it was that he _wanted._

He tilted her chin to face him.

"I'd keep you, and touch you, and kiss you silly if I thought I could," he went on. "Don't think I don't _want_ you, Bella… I've never wanted anything more in my life. It's _your_ honour I'm worried about… I'd not insult you or degrade you for all the gold in my Kingdom."

"I'm _not_ insulted," she said at once, and to his dismay and her delight, she stood on tiptoe to press herself nearer. She saw his resolve waver. "I'm not _degraded_."

"Not _yet."_ He pulled away with a sigh. "Not yet, Bella. But even my control is not limitless, and I'd not risk it for all the world."

He pulled away again and pressed another kiss to her knuckle, and Bella, knowing she was defeated, gave in with a sigh. He did not let her lean on him again— _that_ , apparently, would be tempting fate— but he did offer her his arm, which she took rather greedily.

"Come," he said, and they stepped back into the glow of the fire. "Come and hear the music, Bella, for the songs are merry and the evening is still young."

* * *

The wily youth of evening transformed quickly into the mysterious wisdom of night, and both passed by in a frenzied blur of colour and song.

Melodies played from strings and wood. Drums, placed around fires and fountains, beat rhythms out of sticks and stones. Flutes sang like birds among the rafters, whistling and chirping until the crowd went wild, and Bella watched the whole thing with bright, fascinated eyes and a belly full of cool, sweet wine.

Bella had never been what one might call _graceful._ She had never been light on her feet, nor had she been particularly adept when it came to physical challenges. She was not a dancer— not in any sense of the word— and the height of her experience had come at the tender age of ten, when she'd left the stage crying after falling flat on her face at Madam Polly's junior ballet recital.

So when Edward, begging her with bright, desperate eyes, had asked her dance, Bella had been justifiably and unrelentingly horrified.

"Not a _chance!"_ she'd shouted, laughing over the din of the music. All around her skirts were flying in frightful whirls and spins. "Not a chance, Edward… you'd have to carry me home in pieces!"

Instead Bella had sat on a bench of polished stone, watching the merrimaking from her place in the shadows.

As King, Edward had no choice but to dance at his own New Year's party. Bella watched with deep and not entirely wholesome amusement as he was passed from guest to guest, taking women by the hands and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow men. Jasper joined him, as did Alice, and together as one great writhing mass, Bella watched as each dancer moved in particular patterns and lines. She couldn't follow any of it— not at the first, when she was dazzled by their skill, and definitely not after she'd finished her third cup of wine.

It was when she felt the onset of that familiar, calming fog deep in the back of her brain that was brought on by wine and tiredness that Bella finally felt her limbs relax into a semblance of ease and peace. Her body felt warm, despite the chill of night, and though she felt herself growing more and more uninhibited, it did not stop her from enjoying cup after cup of the seemingly endless pale vintage.

"You look red in the face, Bella," came a voice at her back and Bella, jerked roughly from her own daydreams, wheeled around with a start. Rosalie watched her sheepishly, her head bowed and her arm braced at her back and Bella, feeling both awkward and happy, moved over enough to give her room to sit

Rosalie was quiet as she lowered herself down, watching Bella from the corner of her eye with mild interest until Bella turned with sudden courage to look her full in the face.

Whatever Rosalie saw there— whatever unusual and unabashed wine-induced bravery she saw in Bella— made her quick to speak.

"I'm sorry," said Rosalie at once and Bella, forgetting what she'd meant to say, simply watched her. "I'm sorry for getting surly…"

"You weren't surly," Bella said at once. "I was _nosy."_

"Even so…" Bella felt Rosalie's fingers on hers and she did not complain when they were twined together, Rosalie's thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand. "Even so, Bella. I was too hasty, and you were not wrong."

"Forget it," Bella said at once. "Consider it done…"

"I _can't_ consider it done," Rosalie chuckled, her long braid falling loose from its pins. It tumbled over her shoulder, slapping Bella's arm on the way down, and Bella became entranced by it at once, loosing her hand to take _it_ up instead.

Rosalie only watched her, her seriousness broken by a strong and furious urge to laugh. She gave in after a brief struggle, and Bella turned at once to see what was so funny.

"You're _drunk,_ " accused Rose with a laugh. Bella frowned, but Rose took her cup and sniffed it. "A fine honey wine… and a _strong_ honey wine."

Bella snatched her cup back, determining that she would not lower herself to give a reply. Rosalie continued to survey her, her shrewd eyes falling from her bright eyes to her flushed and heated cheeks, before they fell on her tapping feet, which danced in time to the music.

"You don't dance?" she asked when Bella kept mum. "You don't…"

She glanced surreptitiously at the dancers, who were all moving in a strange and precise formation that Bella could not comprehend.

"... _salta?"_

"I don't know what _salta_ is," said Bella with a sniff. "And anyhow… I _don't_ dance. They'd have to scrape me off the floor if I so much as tried."

"I envy you," said Rose with a laugh. Bella glanced out at the crowd again, picking out Edward's ruddy hair from his place near the fire, and saw him beside his brother, who partnered Alice. Next to Jasper was Emmett, who stood across from a mystery woman Bella didn't know.

"I _love_ dancing," Rose went on. "I'd be out there in a trice if I wasn't such a liability. I wish I _didn't_ like it, though… it would make the evening that much more enjoyable."

Beneath Rose's pale pink dress, standing out like a sore thumb, was the great, round orb of her belly. Bella was instantly distracted, watching for the telltale signs of movement that had become quite commonplace in these last weeks, and was rewarded with a protruding knee or elbow. Rosalie, neither drunk nor drinking, saw Bella's gaze and grinned, taking her hand again.

"You can feel him well, now," she said. She pressed Bella's palm to the far side of her stomach. "Just there… you can feel a foot."

Bella didn't know how Rose knew it was a _foot,_ but when she pressed her probing fingers into the soft, taut flesh, she did feel a protuberance that felt very much like an appendage of some kind.

"You could feel his head up until a day or so ago," she went on, and Bella saw, though her fingers did not follow, how Rose's hand cupped the underside of the globe instead. She rubbed it softly, as if to ease the weight of it, but only sighed and turned back to her friend.

"I am happy for you, Bella," she went on. "Emmett and I were in the crowd as the King spoke from the platform. I am very, _very_ happy for you."

At once, as if doused by a measure of cold, icy water, Bella felt her senses return all at once as her lips pulled up in a smile. Rosalie saw the change and beamed at her, looking as if she might cry, but was so startled by Bella's fervent embrace that she held off.

"I'm happy too, Rose," she whispered. Bella felt that kicking baby against her own belly, now. "I'm so _very_ happy, you don't even know."

Rosalie, bright-eyed and teary, looked out to the crowd of dancers and sighed. Bella knew at once where her gaze had fallen— even from this distance, Emmett towered over the rest— and the two of them watched him for a moment before Rose spoke again.

"I have some idea," she said, clearing her throat and turning her head. "I think I know a _little_ about happiness."

For the rest of the evening Bella sat with Rosalie on that warm, stone bench, heads bent together and all past ills forgotten. They spoke together— long, spirited, hopeful conversations that left both of them dreaming of the future— and they were so engrossed that they hardly noticed the party winding down. They laughed together, as they were so apt to do, and they giggled like schoolgirls over wine and cheese, and though the music played on and their cups were kept full, Bella was startled when, well after midnight, the band went silent and the square began to clear.

"Is it so late?" Bella asked in surprise when Rosalie, pale with tiredness, turned to stare at the empty bandstand. "Is it already so late?"

"It is well past witching hour," yawned Rosalie. "Well past time for any _decent_ people to be up and about…"

"We are _plenty_ decent, I assure you of that," came Emmett's voice. Rosalie and Bella both started, Bella snapping round and Rosalie turning slowly, and he grinned down at the both of them, eying Bella's empty cup.

"I've been sent," said Emmett in a whisper. "I've been _dispatched_ to fetch you."

"Me?" Bella asked, blinking up at him as he helped Rosalie from the bench. "What do you want with _me?"_

"I?" he queried. "Nothing at all. But the _King…"_

He jerked his head towards the shadows, where Bella could only just make out a silhouette in the darkness.

"I expect _he's_ got something to say to you."

"He does?"

Emmett laughed at her.

"Yes, you goose. He does. Now go on and see him so I can get _this_ lady home."

Rosalie sighed when she stood, looking for all the world as if she'd rather sleep right there on the pavillion bench.

"You'll be alright?" Bella asked worriedly. "Walking all that way?"

"I'd like to see her," Emmett scoffed, and Bella saw behind him a crude-looking wagon, hitched to an unpleasantly familiar horse. She grinned to see the creature tied so, looking for all the world like a common plough animal, and felt a cheerful, if not entirely wholesome, pleasure at the sight.

Bella did _not_ like Emmett's headstrong horse.

"You're a _darling,"_ said Rosalie with relish, eying the cart with obvious relief. "I don't think I could walk half a block, much less across the city."

"Your carriage awaits," he said, giving her a quick, playful bow. "I'll help you up. We won't bother with Finn tonight… he'll be sound asleep with Mrs. What's-Her-Face next door, and it won't do to wake him."

Rosalie's groan of pleasure at this news was almost _too_ loud— Bella saw a few heads turn to look and Emmett flushed delightfully pink when they did.

"Come on," he chuckled, whisking her away before she could make another such sound. "Come on. We'll be home in a trice…"

 _Home._ The word made Bella smile, and she watched them go with satisfied pride until the wagon and its cargo disappeared around a bend in the cobbles. Rosalie waved at her all the way, bouncing along among the blankets and the straw, and just as they began to move towards the road that would bring them east, Bella saw Rosalie flop down comfortably onto the plush, hay-strewn floor.

After Emmett and Rose had gone, Bella looked around the pavillion and saw that she was among the last revellers in the great, but finally quiet, pavillion. The bonfires, which had blazed so strong earlier in the night, had burned down to glowing cinders over the course of the evening. The bar stall was closed— Bella could see the barman mopping the wood and setting barrels of wine and ale upright to cork them— and the building from which the food had come was dark and shuttered. There were a few people left— a man, fallen over drunk and snoring on a barstool, a woman giggling and flirting with one of the rowdier dancers, and a boy not much older than Jasper, with dark hair and pale skin, vomiting into a bush at the far end of the square.

Bella blinked in mild surprise, wondering when and where all the people had gone.

"We are out late, Bella," came a voice from her rear, and with a shock that almost made her yelp, Bella leapt away from the noise. She felt Edward's steadying hands on her shoulders, keeping her upright and steady, and when she wheeled to look him full in the face she saw his own wine-soaked smile tinged with quiet, amused apology.

"I'm sorry," he said lowly, and Bella let him draw her in. "I didn't mean to frighten you… did Emmett tell you where I was?"

"In the shadow," she murmured, feeling her heart racing in her throat. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his warm hands at her back. "He said you were waiting…"

"So I was," he said. "But what were _you_ doing?"

Bella felt a giggle bubble up in her throat.

"Watching," she said stupidly, "and forgetting everything that Emmett said… where are all the people?"

"In bed," laughed Edward. "Sleeping, as we should be. Are you very tired?"

"Not very," she said honestly. "A little, I suppose, but that might just be the wine…"

"Indeed, you might be right," he replied. "Wine makes fools of us all, I think."

Bella shook her head.

"You're no fool," she said at once. "And neither am I."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I do."

Silence fell between them and Bella, feeling wholly relaxed, felt herself go limp. Edward watched her with some concern, but Bella put him off at once when she cracked open a sharp, quick eye.

"Where is Alice?" Bella queried softly. "Is she here?"

"No," said Edward. "She's gone home. She would have told you, but you were talking with Rosalie."

"Good, good…"

"I'm afraid she might not be up for service tomorrow," he said. Bella felt, rather than heard, his breathy chuckle. "We told them to have a _few_ , but it seems that _a few_ was a few too many for Alice's tender stomach."

"Is she _very_ sick?" Bella asked sympathetically. "Should we go back?"

"No, she'll be perfectly well," soothed Edward. "I had Jasper take her home, and I told him to fetch Marta. She'll take wonderful care of her."

"Did she have fun?" Bella murmured. "I barely even spoke to her…"

"She seemed to have a _marvellous_ time," said Edward. "I couldn't pull Jasper away from her, even if I tried. I think they might be friends, now."

"Friends," said Bella, her voice thick and slow. "Sure. _Friends."_

Edward shot her a peculiar look.

"Ignore me," she groaned. "As Rosalie pointed out… I might be a _little_ inebriated."

"I see…"

She buried her face in his chest.

"We will soon be alone with the crickets and the drunks," she said, glancing around at the man still snoring on the bartop. The vomiting boy had disappeared. "Perhaps we should go, too…"

"Are you tired?" asked Edward again. "Should we go back to the castle?"

It was Bella's turn to look surprised, her brow furrowed as she tried to sort him out.

"Where else would we go?" she wondered out loud. "Where else _could_ we go?"

Edward grinned at her.

"I have an idea," he said, and for the first time, Bella thought he sounded nervous. "I've got an idea, but I want it to be a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Yes…"

"For _me?"_

"Yes, for you." He traced his finger down her cheek. "Always for _you."_

Bella thought this over.

"Is it a _good_ surprise?"

" _I_ think so."

"Is it a _fun_ surprise?"

"Why don't you come and find out?" he challenged. "It's a bit of a ride, and I know it's late, but…"

"Ride?"

"Emmett was kind enough to send for Magnus when he brought his own horse," said Edward. "He's waiting for us at the gate."

"Waiting for _us?"_

"Yes."

"At _this_ time?"

"Yes…"

"Where are we _going?"_

He watched her then, with such an intense and scrutinizing gaze that Bella, feeling hot and foolish, felt her mouth fall closed. His fingers, gentle and probing, tickled the underside of her chin until she looked up and met him, the vibrant green glowing under the cascade of moonlight that had replaced the glow of flame. He surveyed her, looked so intently at her that Bella almost squirmed, and when he spoke, she felt the wash of warm breath across her face. He smelled like clean soap and hot, red wine and the smell of it made her feel drunk all over again. His words were like honey, so warm and sticky that she could almost _taste_ them, and she felt her heartbeat in her throat and in her chest.

"Do you trust me, Bella?"

Her answer was quick, and it came almost without thought.

"Yes," she said, her voice clear. "Yes, Edward. I trust you."

* * *

They rode together on Magnus, tearing through the black countryside like bandits on the run.

The city was nothing but a pillar of darkness behind them. The path, worn smooth by centuries of pounding hooves and feet, was a long, winding stripe ahead. The air had grown cool, untouched by fire or dancing to keep it lively and warm, but the breeze was delicious as it washed over Bella's face and arms. Her hair was streaming, blowing madly in the wind over Edward's shoulders, and though she felt his strong, solid arms on either side to keep her upright, she felt for all the world like she was flying.

 _This_ flight did not bring her fear. _This_ flight did not bring her sorrow. This flight was glorious— as if she soared among birds and butterflies in the glittering nighttime sky, where the ground was but a pock on the sapphire sea, and there was nothing at all to stop her but the misty white of clouds.

She closed her eyes as they moved, Magnus' hooves stamping a furious rhythm beneath them, and she laughed— so loudly and so often that Edward, delighting in her own happiness, chuckled along with her.

When they stopped Bella felt dizzy with exultation, her face flushed with excitement and her eyes bright with a maddening curiosity.

"Where are we?" she asked softly, and Edward, pulling Magnus towards a stump at the edge of a towering treeline, helped her down. Her legs were shaky— an hour's hard ride combined with her own lingering unsteadiness made for a careful moment of reorientation when she tried to get her feet back under her.

Edward did not answer, but began to tie the horse to a long tether at the base of that stump. He took a saddle bag down from the pommel— a large and laden bag to which Bella paid no mind— and swung it up on his back.

"Come," he said. "It's not far now. We must walk from here, though… there is no other place to leave the horse."

Bella took his hand without question.

They walked together, their stride slow and gentle, as they moved through the tall, spindly trees. Bella felt her heart race— she remembered how trees like this looked in the dark— but as they walked together, hand-in-hand, she felt her anxieties falling away. This was _not_ like last time— there were no pursuers to chase her, there was a wide, defined path to follow, and though these trees were very like the ones that had trapped her at the mountain's base, these were sparser, and more widely spread. The shadows they cast were eerie, but when she looked up to the clear, black sky, she could see constellations of stars and the face of the glowing, silver moon.

She shivered and Edward, looking down at her with concern, stopped their progression.

"It's rather cool," he said softly, and he swung the bag down from his shoulder. Bella watched curiously as he opened the buckles, folding the soft leather back on itself to reveal an assortment of cloth and fabric, all piled pell-mell at the bottom of the bag.

He dug for a moment, his arm buried elbow-deep in the pile, before he came back with something long and dark. Bella could not make it out and only by feeling it with the tips of her fingers did she discern the wool, but when he wrapped it around her shoulders she felt warmed at once, the soft, wispy fabric tickling her neck and chest.

"That should do you for a time," he said. "We're not far now, and we'll be very warm soon enough."

Bella did not know what he meant by that, but she followed quietly after him when he led them further into the trees.

They did not talk as they walked along, but Bella did not miss the chatter in the quiet hush of night. The path they walked sloped up a gentle hill, lined on either side by bowers of tall grass and wildflowers, and though Bella could not see them clearly in the overwhelming darkness, she smelled their perfume as they were crushed underfoot. Edward's long legs moved quickly— a fact to which he soon became aware— and he soon slowed his pace to let her keep up.

It was not long before Bella's curiosity rose again. They came to a shallow curve in the road, beyond which she could hear a curious and noisy rushing sound, but Edward stopped so suddenly that Bella ran right into the back of him.

"Cover your eyes," he said at once, catching her before she fell. Bella frowned up at him. _"Please_ cover your eyes."

Feeling rather suspicious but altogether too curious to resist him, Bella brought her fingers up to shade her eyes.

"Now I _will_ fall down," she complained, though Edward only snorted. "I am _notoriously_ unsteady…"

"I won't let you fall," he said, and she felt his hands on her waist. "Come where I lead you, and promise me you won't peek."

"I _won't_ ," she vowed, "but won't you tell me where we're _going?"_

"We're nearly there," he replied, and she felt an impulsive kiss at her temple. "We're nearly there, and then you'll see for yourself. I _promise_ you'll like it, if you'll only trust me."

"I _do_ trust you," she said again, and she felt his hands begin to push. She went where he led her, minding the stones and dips that he pointed out beneath her feet, and before long, she heard the rushing grow louder. She walked uphill— a steeper hill than the last— and before she knew it, she felt the dirt beneath her feet turn to hard, slippery stone.

"Is it _wet?"_ she asked at once, for she felt a warm, misty drizzle on her face. "Is it _raining?"_

"Not raining, no," said Edward. "Just a little further…"

The rocks felt slick and she walked as slowly as she dared. Her sandals, wet through with damp, slid against the stone and she gasped, clutching his hands to stop herself falling.

"You're well," he assured her, pushing her gently to the left. _"Quite_ well, sweetheart. Don't worry. You won't fall in."

" _In?"_

"To the left," he said, ignoring the question. "Just a bit further…"

Bella, determined to have this rigmarole finished, obeyed him as quickly as she dared.

"There," said Edward, and she felt him release her once her feet had found steady purchase on a flat bit of rock. "There, now."

"We're here?"

"We're here," he said. "We're _here_ , Bella. Now open your eyes."

She lowered her hands at once and opened her eyes, blinking into the moonlight to cast her gaze upon a marvellous sight.

In a hollow in the trees, where the dirt had turned to stone, there stood a great, round basin carved deep into the earth. Trees towered all around, their tops reaching high into the sky, but their canopy did not arch over and moonlight filtered unfettered to the glistening, rocky ground. Steam rose in smoky billows from the great depths below, and Bella gasped aloud when she saw the great, thundering cascade.

For that great depth was filled with steaming, bubbling water, stirred to a great, turbulent storm by a tall and thundering waterfall.

"What _is_ this place?" Bella asked, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Is this a _lake?"_

"Not a lake, no…" Edward wrapped her in his arms from behind, letting his chin rest on the crown of her head. "It is The Springs."

The Springs, as Edward called it, was a stony pool of fresh, clear water. Its source was found in a narrow tributary from the nearby Star Lake— that same body of water that fed the irrigation systems for the Farmer's Village, where most of the island's food was grown. This tributary flowed west, curving sharply south once it entered the jungle proper, and sloped sharply down until it fell in a great cascade to the shallow, rocky pool below. The pool, Edward told her, was heated by some mysterious process in the earth that Bella knew to be geothermal energy, but it was cooled to a pleasant warmth by the flowing waterfall, which kept it at an optimal temperature for swimming.

"It is beautiful, no?" Edward asked, and Bella nodded her head in numb disbelief. "It is… _lovely."_

"The most lovely," she agreed at once. From their vantage point, on a ledge near the bottom of the waterfall, she could see the whole basin from east to west. It was dark, it was true, but even so, she could see a plethora of colour in the plants by the water's edge. The pool was light— in the daylight, she suspected it would be a deep, brilliant turquoise— and there were shallow pools full of marine life on rock shelfs and pools. Fish, tiny and silver, flitted in the one nearest her feet, and she could see some kind of green plant waving at her from another further down.

"I've wanted to take you here for a long time," Edward admitted and Bella, turning around to face him properly, let her breath out in a sigh. "I've wanted to show you this for a _very_ long time…"

"Why haven't you?"

"Because it wasn't _right,"_ he said. "It wasn't _right_ to take you, when I had no claim to your love, and I've told you before… I wouldn't, for all the world, do _anything_ to shame or dishonour you."

"There is no _shame_ in love," Bella replied. "There is no _shame_ in beauty…"

"No," agreed Edward. "No shame at all… but until you were mine— _properly_ mine— I'd be a fool to risk it."

"Did you think I'd back out?"

"No," Edward said at once, shaking his head so hard that his hair fell loose from its tie. "No, Bella… I'd never think you false."

"I'm _not_ false…"

He pulled her close.

"I brought you here to _prove_ myself to you," Edward said. "I want to _prove_ to you how happy I am that you're to be my wife, and how happy I am that you've agreed to make me your _husband."_

Bella felt her breath catch in her throat and she swallowed hard against the sudden lump. His face was close to hers, now— so close that she could feel his breath— and she drew her lip between her teeth in sudden nervousness. He touched her, cupped her face between his palms and pressed his forehead to hers before he let her go with a sigh and reached down to the leather bag instead.

Bella was left breathless and bemused, her chest heaving as she held the soft, woolen shawl around her shoulders.

"I brought us towels," said Edward, emerging with two thick sheets big enough to fit her bed. "In case we decide to…"

Bella glanced down into the pool, which looked as enticing as a bathtub full of hot bubbles, and couldn't fight her grin.

"I _do,"_ she said. "I'd _love_ to go in."

His smile spread from ear to ear.

"I thought you might," he said, and he offered her his hand again. "I just thought you might…"

Her heart still throbbing and her head still spinning, Bella followed him down a set of steps that had been carved into the side of the basin. They were not long— there were only twenty or so to reach the bottom— but they were slick and she held tight to his hand to keep herself from falling.

Water bathed her feet before she could take her sandals off. It was warm— deliciously, tantalizingly warm— and she quickly kicked off her shoes to let her feet rest on the hot, hard stone.

Edward, she saw, did the same. She watched him as he bent down, untying the laces of his smart, black boots and tossing them behind him to keep them dry as he peeled away his socks. When he reached for the drawstring of his breeches, unfastening the knot with almost absent ease, she felt her body go still.

"Do I shock you, Bella?" Edward asked, and she saw his hands frozen on his waistband. He watched her with an unreadable expression. "Have I… gone too far?"

At once, Bella shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm not shocked… only _surprised."_

He let out a low, quick laugh but he stopped, turning instead to walk over to her.

"We could keep them on, our clothes," he said, gesturing to her fine, silver dress, "but they'd be ruined in an instant."

Bella bit her lip.

"I'd not ruin that dress for all the gold in the Kingdom," he continued. His finger reached out, tracing up the shoulder strap of the long, satin gown. "I've never seen anything so beautiful, and I'd not for all the world see it destroyed."

Bella's cheeks flushed red.

"But if you want to stop, we will," he said softly. "I won't push you further than you'd like to go. I'll _not_ dishonour you, Bella… have no fear of that. There will be no… _ungentlemanly_ conduct."

Her head snapped around at once, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

"I think more of _you,"_ said Bella, and she saw the confused frown settle on his face. _"You_ seemed so… worried about doing things _properly."_

"There is nothing _wrong_ with this." He brushed his finger over her shoulder. "Nothing wrong at all…"

"You pull away from me," Bella continued. "You don't let me… get too close."

"Not for my own benefit…"

"Then _why?"_ She turned with genuine curiosity, and he perceived it at once. "Why do you… resist?"

"Because it is _right,"_ he said again. "Because when we are in company, I _must._ I am the _King,_ and so must be a model of propriety and good conduct. I cannot insult you by taking liberties… it is not to be tolerated in an average man, but it is to be _condemned_ in a King."

"But if there is nothing _wrong_ with it…"

"Nothing wrong to _me,"_ he said at once. "You saw that woman at the festival… you saw what happened when I leaned in too close. The people watch me, Bella. They judge right and wrong by what _I_ do. I _can't_ love you like I want to before all my people… not before we are married. It would be a great scandal, and a great dishonour to you should I even _try."_

"Then why _now?"_ Her hands tangled in the front of his loose, green tunic. "Why _now,_ Edward?"

"Because we are _alone,"_ he said, "and because I _love_ you. Because I want to _prove_ to you that I _want_ you, even if I can't show you in the way I might want to. Because I want to _see_ you, and I want to _hold_ you, even if it's only for a little while. There are no eyes here, Bella… none but ours, and while we stay, we can be as free as if we were the only two people left in all the world."

Bella felt her throat tighten at the sincerity she heard in his voice. She felt her eyes brim up at the honest, palpable _desire_ she saw on his face. There was no guile there— no shadow of doubt or shame or guilt— and so she released his hands and stepped back, letting him step away from his clothes. He kept his shorts— those thin, white underclothes he wore beneath his breeches— but besides that thin covering, he was completely bare.

He stood before her unashamed, letting her rake her eyes over his chest and his arms, and though she didn't touch so much as a hair on his body, the moment felt more intimate than any other they had shared yet.

"If you want," Edward said after a long, pregnant pause, "there are shirts in the bag that you can wear. I will not look, if you don't want me to…"

But Bella, spurred into confidence by the copious wine she'd drunk not long ago, felt her nerves solidify as she reached around to the small of her back where an artful bow was tied to hold her dress in place.

He tried not to look— tried to give her the privacy he thought she wanted— but he failed miserably when Bella did not ask him to turn away. She saw his throat bob, his fingers tapping at the stone at his back, and when Bella finally managed to disentangle the silver cord from the back of the dress, she felt the whole thing loosen and sag.

She, like Edward, wore her underthings beneath her dress. She had on her own breeches— longer and looser than those she was used to back home, but still serving the same purpose. She did not, however, have anything to cover her chest, and though she knew she would have been mortified to show herself to any man in her proper state of mind, the wine had given her courage.

She let the dress pool on the stone in one, great rush, feeling it slip off of her shoulders in a puddle at her feet. She heard Edward's sigh— that great, sudden exhale that made her knees feel weak— and she turned with her chin held high, though her legs shook like autumn leaves.

Neither said anything for a long, quiet moment. They surveyed each other— he looking at her, and she at him— until there was nothing left to hide, and they stood but one inch apart.

"Thank you," Edward said, and Bella frowned up at him.

"For what?"

"For trusting me," he said at once. "For letting me bring you here, and for letting me see you, as you are…"

"As I am?"

"As the gods made you," he said, and Bella glanced up again at the sky. Starlight shadowed him and made his face stand out in the darkness, and when she stood on tiptoe to press her lips to the rounded end of his nose, she felt his arms catch her up at once.

Her kiss never made it there. Indeed, it hardly made it halfway to his _cheek_ before she felt him intercept her with a startling swiftness, pressing those soft, warm lips to hers, his breath becoming one with her own and his hands tangling in the hair at the back of her neck. Her surprise did not last long— indeed, her own longing quickly overtook it— and she closed her eyes, letting his smell, his touch, his _warmth_ take her to new heights where they were the only things that mattered, the only two beings that _existed_ on the face of the earth. She felt his face— felt his stubbly cheek beneath her fingers and the curve of his ear beneath her palm— and felt his long hair tickle her cheeks and her neck. She felt that jaw, so sharp and square and strong, and the way his chest moved against hers, so smooth and hard. His gentleness turned to passion, his soft, stroking hands squeezing at her back and her sides, until he'd pulled her right up to his level, her feet leaving the ground altogether. He took no notice when she squeezed his neck and his arms, or when she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself up where he wanted her… he would _do_ anything to keep her close, and _be_ anything to have her breathe that long, satisfied sigh she made whenever he came up for air.

That kiss seemed to last a lifetime and Bella surfaced with a gasp, her pulse racing and her chest heaving. Slowly, as they both came down from their high, Bella let herself slide back down to the ground, her toes touching the hot, wet stone.

"You are _beautiful,_ Bella," said Edward, and she pressed herself to him as close as she could get. "You are absolutely, undeniably _beautiful."_

"I…"

"I love you," he said, and Bella felt his truth in every fibre of her being. "I _love_ you, and I can't wait to share my life with you."

"I love you too," Bella whispered, and she saw with delight how he froze. He blinked at her, more astonished than pleased, and she felt laughter bubble up on her red and swollen lips.

"Do you?" he asked, and Bella let her laugh go free. "Do you _really?"_

"I do…"

They moved to the edge of the rock. He kissed her again for good measure.

"I absolutely, positively _do."_

"Are you ready, then?" he asked, peering into the dark pool. "Are you ready to jump, Bella?"

The warmth wafted up from the bubbling water below. Mist tickled her nose and dampened her hair, and when they stood right at the edge, she felt the waterfall's drizzle on her bare skin. Edward held her fast— tightened his fist around her hand until they were almost fused together— and she took a deep breath, readying herself for the fall.

"I'm ready."

And together they leapt, hands held fast until they hit the water and she swam, higher, and higher, and higher, until she broke the surface once more and wrapped herself in his soft, warm embrace.

 **A/N: A gift for your wonderful patience... and w** **e've** _ **finally**_ **made it! A kiss _at last!_** **I hope you're all satisfied, and thanks for all your support!**

 **I'd also like to give a special shout out to everyone who's left a review on this story so far. Thanks to your generosity, we've finally crested the 1,000 review mark. A fantastic achievement! Thank you so much.**

 **Translations:**

 _salta_ —translates literally to "jump out", but is a term used to refer to a specific Maronese dance.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

The little green fledgling swooped around the room, his loud, squeaking voice carrying in echoes that bounced off the high beams of the conical roof. Alice giggled as he went, turning left and right in an attempt to gain speed until he spiralled and fell, landing with a soft plop on the thick, brocade cushion of an armchair. His protesting peep was muffled, his beak buried deep in the golden embroidery as he hauled himself upright, his tail askew and his plumage ruffled.

The child scooped him up at once, bringing the little face close to hers for a sweet, gentle kiss.

"Not hurt," she said, appraising the scruffy wings with a careful eye. She smoothed the pad of her finger down his soft, downy cheek. "No worse for wear."

Bella put out her finger, holding it high and still, and the bird leapt quickly from Alice's cupped hands and landed smoothly on the outstretched digit.

"He did better than before," Bella reasoned, bringing the small creature to her chest. He peeped at her, his sharp, black eye trained on her face, and put his head down to tap her thumb, demanding a scratch.

Bella obliged without complaint.

"Much better," agreed Alice. The child sat herself before Bella on the rug, her knees tucked under her as she leaned in close. Bella folded her legs, giving the girl more room, and together they watched as the little thing fluttered to Bella's shoulder, where he tucked his head beneath his wing.

A swell of affection for the little thing grew as she stroked him. His back was soft— softer, even, than Bella might have expected— and he tolerated her interference with relatively little fuss, letting her run her fingers up and down the length of his back. Bella felt each plume beneath her fingers— sharp, angled feathers interspersed by soft, fluffy down — and though he cracked an eye open to watch her, he did not complain.

Pip— for that was what Bella had decided to call him— had become as much a fixture of her rooms as her bed or her dressing table, and though it had taken some time for each to adjust to the other, Bella would not have it any other way.

"Do you think the other ladies will approve?" asked Bella wryly, watching Alice surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. The child shifted uncomfortably. "Will they like him, do you think?"

Alice sniffed, looking away.

"I don't much _care_ if they like him," she said with a barely contained petulance that reminded Bella of the girl's true age. Bella bit her lip to contain her amusement. "It doesn't matter one whit what they think, because he's already _here._ If they don't like him, they know _exactly_ where they can go."

Bella laughed outright, jostling the bird and earning herself a sharp nip. She pulled the creature away, scolding him, and let him roost on the edge of her end table instead. The bird turned his back on her, nestling his head back beneath his wing. Alice watched this exchange with passive disinterest, but Bella saw the unhappy fissure between her brows and sighed.

"You know it must be done," said Bella wisely, and Alice, unmoved, gave a shrug. "It _must_ happen before…"

"Before the wedding," said Alice quickly. "I know."

 _The wedding._

In the whirlwind fortnight between the New Year and the present, Bella had been bombarded by work and preparations. The Kingdom, usually settled into planting and summer planning by this time, had gone into a frenzy of rumor and talk. To her intense and lasting discomfort, the most prominent topic of conversation was _her,_ as not only did they think her divine, but she was soon to be their leader.

The date had not been set. The food had not been ordered. The venue, which Bella knew to be a ceremonial temple in the centre of the city, had only just begun the sacred rituals to introduce a monarch to the gods. Though she had felt the folly down to the marrow of her bones, it had taken every ounce of her strength not to sink through the floor when she'd had to meet with the Temple Host to discuss the proceedings. The Host, a wizened, elderly man with a beard that touched his knees, had been the caretaker of the temple since the time of Edward's grandfather, and he had met her with such open and abject deference that she thought she might die of embarrassment.

How, he had asked, should they proceed, when the intended Queen was one of the godly race herself? Would it be wise— would it be _proper—_ for a mere mortal to introduce a heavenly daughter to her own father, who would be asked to bless the match? _Could_ the match be blessed, if the man was not of the stars? And _how_ should he proceed, given her status and her birthright?

Bella had answered none of these— not even when Edward, seated next to her in stalwart sympathy, had attempted to translate some of the more complicated, theological terms that Bella did not yet understand. Edward's halting speech only made it worse. It proved to _her_ , if not to the Host, that she was anything but the divine entity the people believed her to be. She had no authority whatsoever to dictate the movements and choices of someone as learned and schooled as he, and she wished sincerely that he might see this too.

Bella had gone to bed early that night, her head swimming with new doubts about her station and her place.

In the week after the announcement, the palace had begun to clothe her. Queens, Bella learned, had a very particular role to play when it came to dressing, and though the very thought was laughable to her, Alice had informed her that her choices of dress and style would hold more weight than she knew. She felt a pang of regret when her old trunks of plain, white frocks and simple vests were hauled away, as if yet another piece of her past was being exiled to make way for the unknown future. She seemed to be the only one with these reservations, however, as even Bella could not mistake the glee on Alice's face when the new trunks, decorated with precious metals, gems, and enamel, were hauled laboriously up the tower steps. Her new dresses had more pieces than she knew what to do with— skirts that attached to a bodice with buttons, sleeves that could be sewn on, petticoats so large that even Alice, who had an eye for such things, lost herself to mirth. The final straw had come in the form of a corset— a _corset!_ —that looked as if it would squeeze the life right out of her.

"Women don't even _wear_ these anymore," Alice had chortled, holding the offending item between her thumb and forefinger. Bella recoiled when it touched her, her ribs throbbing in anticipatory protest, and Alice took it away, still snorting.

Some of her new clothes were old. Some, hauled from dusty trunks hidden deep in attic alcoves, were embossed with names that Bella did not recognize from old family trees. She discovered that Theodora— a distant ancestor of Edward's— liked red, while his great Aunt Tilly favoured bright violet sashes. Some of the clothing was too big, like a billowing pink skirt she'd pulled from the bottom of an old bamboo box, and some were made for infants still in their baby clothes, so old and unused that they had turned yellow with age.

Bella was pulled from these recollections when the bird chirped again, peering at the two of them with his one, beady eye. Alice, shaking away the cobwebs, gave a great sigh, hauling herself to her feet.

"I suppose you're right," she said tiredly, dusting her skirts. Bella followed suit. "But I _do_ wish you'd tell me who you're going to choose…"

"If I knew, Alice, I'd tell you in a heartbeat," Bella said. "I've no idea who I'll even have to _consider,_ much less who will make the final cut."

Alice grimaced.

Three days prior, just as she had finished sorting through the last of the old, dusty trunks, Edward had descended on her yet again with a sheepish smile and a a gift of a singular flower— a massive, fragrant purple thing that was almost as big as her hand.

" _I come with news,"_ he'd said haltingly.

"Good news?"

"It's not _bad_ news… although it _does_ bring another task."

Bella had felt the prickle of tiredness in her bones at the very thought _,_ though she said nothing more about it and let him speak.

"The Lords have been asking, and they can pester me no longer," he said apologetically. "They are demanding that you choose your household."

"Demanding?" Bella had asked, her eyebrows raised. "I didn't know they _could_ demand."

"Well, strictly speaking, I suppose they _can't_ ," conceded Edward. "I suppose it _is_ my right to refuse…"

"I see…"

"But they are not _wrong."_

Bella had breathed a sigh.

"What do you mean, my household?" she asked when his silence went on. "I have my maid, and Marta…"

"Aye," Edward bowed his head in acquiescence, "but there are other customs…"

The King, Bella learned, had his Council. Twelve learned men, elected by their districts and bound to represent their cares and interests in the presence of the King, all of whom Edward employed as workers of the realm. They served the greater good, making choices and decisions for the masses, and Bella admired them for it, though she did not always agree with what was said.

The Queen, however, had no such Council. Her place was at the King's side, where she could contribute to, but not control the Council proper. Her word held weight, it was true, but her real influence in the palace was felt by the servants, the entirety of whom were under her personal employ. Marta, the head housekeeper, would be her direct contact. The butlers, only one of whom Bella knew by sight, would be at her beck and call. She could hire at will, and fire, should a body prove unworthy, and one of the most coveted places in the whole scheme was as a personal maid to the Queen, of which there were twelve official posts.

Alice's place had been secured the moment she'd returned to the palace. The girl was young— more child than woman— but Bella had already promised her the especial role of Lady's Maid. Ladies of the realm— of which Bella was an honorary, if not truly _legal_ member— often had only one. A maid helped a lady dress. She helped to fix her hair. She walked with her in public, so that neither would be alone, and served as a diplomat to arrange meetings and gatherings between other women of equitable rank. The only person Bella ever saw in a social capacity was Rosalie, who had no maid of her own, and so Alice had become more of a friend— a pupil turned sister— rather than a true servant.

But, alas, she must choose her household, Edward had said. She must choose twelve maids— twelve women and girls to bring into her inner sanctum, just as the King welcomed his twelve councillors. Twelve girls to wait on her, to fetch her slippers and fill her teapot, and the very thought of it had made Bella writhe with unholy laughter.

" _I don't_ need _twelve girls,"_ she had argued. _"I barely need the one I have now, though I'd not trade her for the world."_

" _It is essential,"_ Edward had replied. _"It is the duty of the royal family to provide employment, and that employment always begins in the home."_

Bella had pondered that for a long while. It had taken some time for the words to sink in, for her to really understand what it was that Edward was saying, and when she did, she felt the unexpected weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

Twelve girls, all vying for her favour, and all desperately hoping that she'd choose _them,_ that she'd bestow her favour and mark one out as special.

She had watched _Elizabeth._ She knew _Downton Abbey_ inside and out. Though she had never had servants of her own, Bella had some idea how these things worked and the impending drama exhausted her before the final candidates had even been selected.

"Where will they sleep?" asked Alice curiously, running her fingers through Bella's hair.

"Upstairs with the others, I think," she replied. Alice began to twist her tresses into long, winding braids. "I don't know where else there'd be room."

"The staff upstairs is scarce," said Alice with a sigh. Although she stayed with Bella in the blue rooms, Alice had become a familiar face in the rooms upstairs when she had to wash her clothes or mend her stockings. Marta had taken her in hand— Edward had told Bella that she was always kindest to the young ones— and had made sure to show Alice the ropes just as soon as she was able.

Aside from Marta, Lessie, and a handful of scullery and kitchen maids, the female servant's quarters had been almost barren since the last Queen's funeral.

"Will I stay with you?" Alice asked, pinning a braid in place. Bella grinned. "Or will I go too, with the others?"

"Here, I think," said Bella idly, though she did not miss Alice's cheerful smile. "Your room is here, should we ever desire our own bedspace, and I don't think it would be fair to move you."

Alice said nothing for a long moment.

"That room is for the _head_ maid," said Alice slowly. "The one who is _closest_ to you."

Bella grinned, turning to face her.

"You think any of these other girls will be as dear to me as you?" Bella asked at once. Alice's face turned beet red, though she did not lose her smile. "You, whom I've loved like a sister from the first?"

"I'm young…"

"And capable," Bella said at once. "Don't worry yourself over it, darling. I'd take none of them if I could, but alas, I've been told I must."

"It's good for families," said Alice wisely. "Marta told me that almost every grand name in the capital sent a daughter for consideration. Some sent two or three."

"So I've heard…"

"Some of them are very pretty," said Alice again, and this time, Bella thought she heard a note of jealousy. "They're… handsome."

"I don't care if they look like trolls or princesses," Bella laughed. The child flushed again. "I care nothing for such folly… all I want, if I must take them at all, are good-natured, pleasant, and trustworthy girls who will perform their duties and keep out of trouble."

Alice snorted, pinning the final braid in place.

"Fat chance," she said, taking a step back to survey her handiwork. "They may be good-natured and pleasant to _you,_ but you can bet that once they're all cooped up here, vying for attention, there'll be more catfights in the attic than there are in a barn."

* * *

In the great, bright throne room, Bella stood still, her eyes trained on the brilliant crowd of hairpins and skirts that bustled before her.

"So many?" she asked in an undertone. Edward smiled in sympathy. "I didn't think there'd be _this_ many…"

"All of our prominent families are eager for your favour," Edward whispered. She leaned in closer to hear. "Everyone wants their daughters to make a good match."

"Match?"

"Courtiers are in high demand," Edward replied. "It says something about a woman if she has the ear of a Queen. Good marriages are an economy all their own. Western daughters, in particular, are expected to marry high."

"How high?"

Edward laughed, and the gaggle of girls paused to look. He turned away from them, hiding his dancing eyes, and waited until the voices rose again to reply.

" _Very_ high," said Edward softly. "I wouldn't be half shocked if more than a few had designs on my brother."

Bella grimaced, shaking her head.

"So young?"

"Many of these girls are children yet," Edward pointed out. "Many are younger even than _Alice,_ for all she serves you."

With a surreptitious curiosity, Bella glanced around the room once more. With renewed eyes she saw the truth of this— beyond the grand, big girls were flocks of smaller, sheepish creatures beruffled and curled in the highest of fashions. Bella watched their wide eyes, darting to and fro across the wide expanse of the great stone room, and more than once a particularly small girl glanced back towards the great, arched wooden doors.

Pity struck her hard, and she turned at once to Edward.

"How will I choose?" she breathed. "There are at least fifty… and half of them barely grown!"

"Sixty six, to be precise," Edward said. The crowd milled about, each making polite smiles at the others. A few were circled together, whispers carrying like hisses in the sombre "More than I thought we'd get, but fewer than before…"

"Before?"

"Legend has it that the retinue that turned up to serve my mother was at least a hundred strong, though of course, I can't know _for sure,_ " Edward explained. "We had a larger population then, and there was an overabundance of daughters in the city's west end."

The group nearest them— a trio of teenagers who reminded Bella so wholly of her high school days in Forks— began to giggle. Bella took a moment to watch them, surveying the three girls with elaborate curls, ruffled petticoats, and sneering lips as they broke away from the main body of the crowd. Eyes of venom surveyed the crowd, fingers pointing discreetly at this girl or that, and more than once Bella saw a tall, redheaded beauty dissolve into fits of snorting laughter.

"What's the protocol?" she asked. Edward shrugged. "Do I just… pick some?"

"How you make your choice is up to you," Edward replied. "It will be _your_ household, so it must be _you_ that chooses."

"Is there… an interview?"

Edward cocked his head curiously.

"If you _want_ to have one."

Bella blew out a breath.

"It really doesn't matter?" she asked, and Edward shook his head at once. "I can choose whoever I want simply _because_ I want to?"

He laughed again, but this time he seemed confused.

"It will be _your_ household, Bella. Their pay will come from your coffers, they will be housed and clothed at your discretion… they will serve _you_ , in your private quarters. It _must_ be up to you… I would never feel right saddling you with maids you don't get along with."

Bella, rolling this over in her head, chewed on her lip in contemplation.

"How do I dismiss them?"

He laughed again.

"You say no thank you," he replied, as if talking to a child. "There will be no tantrums, I assure you…"

Bella snorted— a loud, unladylike sound that carried clear across the room. Edward stifled a grin, turning away from the curious heads again, and Bella turned towards her audience, red-faced.

"Thank you for coming," she said. Even she heard the shaky tremor in her voice. "Thank you all for coming…"

And one by one, the girls fell into low curtseys, leaving Bella to perch herself on the edge of the Queen's throne with awkward grace.

The choosing made her weary, and by the time the sun was beginning to set over the western mountains, Bella had finally whittled her choice down to the final eleven. Wide and starry eyed, her charges looked up at her, prim and proper in their ruffled pinks, yellows, and greens, each as feverish and giddy as the girl beside her. Bella glanced at Edward— he, too, seemed tired, and though he had said nothing at all to the maids or Bella throughout the process, she saw that he seemed pleased with her newly hired dozen.

Alice, having peeked her head through the door after dinner, had been asked to stay for the remainder of the evening. She had said nothing, just like Edward, but Bella could tell by the sagging relief in her shoulders when she made a good choice, or the icy flint in her eyes when she contemplated a poor one, just what the girl thought of each of these new comrades. One of the girls Bella had chosen came from the orphanage— the same rough, lonely place that had housed Alice— and she saw the spark of friendship between them at once. Three came from the Rocklands— younger daughters of large families who had sent their girls to the Capital, knowing full well that their chances were slim. Two of these girls were sisters— Bella had felt herself intrigued by the smaller of the two, and though they were not identical, she knew at once that the girls were kin. The look of despair from the other when she'd selected the initial girl had been tragic, and though the child had not said so much as one word to sway her choice, Bella had felt that she would carry that nagging discomfort for the rest of her days should she tear those two creatures apart.

Five girls from the east would join her as well, mostly second daughters from homes full of children, and one tall, awkward tween from Honeybee Point. One from the Farmer's Village— a hardy, jolly girl who laughed at the slightest provocation and who, if truth be told, watched Bella with such a wide-eyed reverence that it almost made her squirm. All of her girls were young— even Edward, saying nothing, had eyed them all askance when she lined them up before her— but that was what Bella liked about them. She did not want women grown, judgmental and sneaking in their service. She did not want gossip, flying like hornets through her very walls and chambers. The girls she had chosen were peaceful— kind, gentle creatures who were giddier about their new friends than their duties, and it made Bella glad to see it.

She liked to hear a child laugh, and she would not begrudge the noise in her own, blue chambers.

The twelfth girl— the last one to be chosen from her group of peers— was one that Bella did not quite know what to do with. Edward had not _told_ her as much— had not said anything at all that might influence her choices or her reasons— but she gathered from the long, surly faces of the taller girls in their lavish clothing that her choices were unprecedented. She knew that, in generations past, that the majority of a Queen's maids came from the city's west end. Courtiers were refined creatures— not the gaggle of noisy, giggling girls that Bella had chosen for herself— and though Bella knew that she would have to teach them and train them, she also knew that if she chose _no one_ from the west, it would be a great and terrible offence.

Elia— for that was the name she had whispered when Bella had asked her— was the only Western girl in the whole group, and with her glittering jewels, coiffed, stiff hair, and overabundant skirts, she stood out like a sore thumb. Bella watched her from the corner of her eye as she shuffled her feet in the dust, looking for all the world as if she would like to break into the laughing, riotous group that bounced not three feet from her, but when one of them waved at her— a jubilant, exaggerated wave— the child shrunk away at once, embarrassed to be spotted.

Bella filed this away for later, and let Edward help her to her feet.

"Congratulations," said Edward, eying each of the children in turn. "Your lady has chosen well."

The girls sobered up at once, looking torn between terror and amazement to be so addressed by their King.

"Your duties will start when our Queen is annointed," he continued. "Until then, enjoy your families and collect your belongings. You will leave your names with the page, and a letter will be sent to each of you detailing the proceedings for your arrival."

Each girl bobbed a curtsey, first to Edward, and then to Bella, to whom many flashed an excited, winning smile.

"Thank you," said Bella courteously. The children fairly bounced. "I trust there is someone here to take you home?"

Each girl, including Elia, though she would not meet her eye, gave a sharp, quick nod.

"Then off with you," laughed Bella. "The day has been long, and sleep will be sweet. I will see you back here before you know it."

One by one, some fairly sprinting, the girls filed out of the throne room. Bella saw a collection of men and boys waiting in the hall, each receiving their small daughter or sister with smiles and congratulations. Bella waited until the door was closed again before she turned to Edward, who let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

"One job done," he said in relief. "Many more to go, but one _big_ job done…"

"What do you think?"

He peered curiously at her.

"Of what?"

"Of the _girls."_ Bella rolled her eyes. "Do you like them?"

"I think they are _girls_ through and through," said Edward with mild amusement. "You've set yourself a task, I'll say that."

Bella frowned at him.

"How so?"

"None trained, none _experienced…"_

"I'll _train_ them," she snorted. "I don't _want_ them experienced…"

"Evidently not." Edward smoothed her hair, which had gone frizzy in the afternoon heat. "But if they make you happy, they'll do just fine."

"I'm sure they will." She felt his thumb slide across her palm. "I'm almost _positive_ they will."

"It will be a refreshing change," said Edward after a few moments of quiet. "It's been too long since we had a lively crew in the palace."

"How long?"

"Years," said Edward, glancing back at the setting sun. "So many years that I can hardly remember…"

Bella, feeling suddenly anxious, glanced up at Edward with a plaintive frown.

"Have I done wrong?" she asked, and at once she felt his arms tighten. "I want so badly to do things _right,_ but I'm not always sure…"

At once, he turned her around to face him. Bella felt the touch of his hands, rough and warm, as they combed through the hair at the side of her face, gathering it at the nape of her neck. She watched him closely— watched how those bright, green eyes flared with sudden passion, and before he said a word in response, she felt his lips pressing a quick and gentle kiss to hers.

"You will be _Queen,_ Bella," he replied. "The one and only Queen. It is not for anyone else to say what is right or what is wrong— only your own conscience can dictate. Did those choices _feel_ wrong today?"

At once, Bella shook her head. He kissed her again.

"Then there you have it," he concluded. "It is neither right nor wrong. It is simply a choice."

"But there are _traditions…"_

"Traditions change," said Edward simply. "They evolve with us, and so the march of time goes on."

Bella sighed.

"I don't want to be a…" She struggled to find the right word. "I don't want to be a _sensation."_

Edward, all sympathy and sighs, let out a short, quick chuckle.

"It is the nature of this work," he said, glancing back at the grand, empty thrones. Bella looked with him. "We are always a _sensation,_ whether we mean to be or not."

* * *

Bella relayed the whole thing to Rosalie the very next day, seated across from her on the wooden chair opposite the hearth.

"You'll be like a mother hen amongst a flock of chicks," Rosalie chuckled. "How will you manage them?"

Bella grinned sheepishly.

"Edward said much the same, though with a few more words," she replied, "and as I told him, I _like_ my choices."

"More's the pity," said Rose. She shifted awkwardly on her seat. "You'll have a time training them up…"

"They're good girls," said Bella at once, though by Rosalie's sceptical glance, she knew that her lie did not hit home.

"So you _think."_

Bella scowled, shaking her head.

"So I _know,"_ she said loyally. "At least until they prove otherwise."

Rosalie barked a laugh.

"Reasonable," she chuckled, nodding her defeat. "I suppose that'll have to do."

The pair fell into a companionable silence that Bella relished, leaning her head back against the painted clay wall. The stone was cool against her hair— the blazing sun, hot even by Maronese standards— had turned her leisurely walk over into a rather daunting trek. She had arrived at noon, just before the sun had crested, and though Emmett, who had come with her, seemed not to mind it, Bella's delicate complexion was not used to such abuse. Her cheeks were sunburned and sore, and though she'd worn her wide-brimmed straw hat, she had a strange assortment of tan lines around her shoulders and her collar. Bands of red, shaded by the straps of her silver party dress, were overlaid by large patches of white and brown— old sunburns fading from pink to brown along her arms, and fresh, rosy tints that hovered around her chin and chest.

Bella did not know how Emmett could tolerate it. Even now, while she and Rosalie sat fanning themselves in the parlour, he and Finn were making merry in the backyard, shouts and hoots of laughter accompanying the darting shadows from the kitchen window.

Rosalie puffed out a sigh when she shifted again, struggling to sit herself upright on her over-large cushion.

"Any day now," she complained, patting her belly. Bella did not know how it was possible, but she had grown even bigger than she'd been just a fortnight ago, her balance now so awkward that she'd taken to holding chairs and walls whenever she moved from room to room. She could no longer bend over— that, it seemed, was only borrowing trouble— and she did not dare seat herself anywhere other than a chair or her bed.

"I'd never get up again," she'd groused. "There you'd find me, old and gray with a belly like an anvil holding me down."

All around the little house, Bella saw signs of Rosalie's increasing settlement in her new home.

In the kitchen, on a new shelf made from square stones, hemp rope, and bamboo poles, rested jars of preserved and pickled vegetables. Beans, floating in brine, shone greenly in the light from the window. Tomatoes, ripened to bursting, had been peeled and quartered. There were fruits, too— yellow pineapple floating in amber syrup, and berries smashed and stirred to make jams and preserves. There were roots like carrots and turnips, and a strange, purple legume that Bella did not recognize. There were coconut shavings and long, curling ribbons of cinnamon bark. Star anise, dried vanilla beans, and pots upon pots of liquid, golden honey that cast a rich glow against the ruddy clay walls. The pantry held bread, both new and old. There was a sack of flour, barely used, closed tight atop the counter. Sugar— a small, precious pouch— rested in a covered clay pot to keep the ants away, and a bushel of fresh avocados, a mix of grass green and midnight black, sitting in the sun. Her water jug was full and the pump outside ran clear. Firewood, stacked in tall, neat piles, had been cut by an obliging neighbour boy whose mother had ten children of her own and knew all too well the struggles of the third trimester. The fire was not needed now— indeed, it was so hot and sticky that Bella wondered that one was ever needed _at all—_ but there it waited, unperturbed, for a cool and misty night.

In the parlour where they sat, Rosalie had hung her painting to match the gaudy red rug. White doves flew across the floor and again across the wall, where they'd been inked with more skill and precision than Bella had expected. She had not known Rosalie to be a painter— indeed, she had not known her to be much of anything but a mother and a homemaker— but somehow, it did not surprise her. Painting, Bella knew, took careful attention to detail and Rosalie was nothing if not attentive.

Finn's loud, raucous squeal rang through the room and Bella, jolted from her daydreams, let her gaze fall upon her friend.

"Just about ready to be done, I suppose?" she asked idly, making Rosalie grimace.

" _More_ than ready." Bella saw, with morbid admiration, the wiggle of a foot or a hand beneath Rose's dress. Rosalie poked it— a sharp jab that Bella was sure would leave a bruise— and the limb only pressed harder.

"Stubborn thing," said Rose fondly. "Cruel, stubborn boy…"

"Girl," Bella quipped at once, just to watch her friend scowl. She was not disappointed. "I am absolutely _convinced_ that she is a _girl."_

"He most certainly is _not,"_ groused Rosalie. "I know a boy when I feel one… this one will _definitely_ be a boy, and he will definitely be a fighter if he's got anything to say about it."

"How much longer, do you think?" Bella asked. Rosalie frowned. "It's been… more than enough?"

"Within the week, I'd say," Rose replied. "There have been practice pains for a fortnight, and that was a sure sign when I had Finn."

Bella sat up a little straighter. Deep in the pit of her belly, which was stirring with nerves, she felt the slightest nudge of excitement mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.

"How do you know they're only practice?" she asked seriously. Rosalie grinned at her. "They might be real…"

"They come and go and lead to nowhere," breezed Rose. "Trust me, Bella. I'll know when they're real. When it really gets going, the whole island is likely to know…"

Bella didn't know whether to laugh or frown.

"Don't worry for me, Bella," said Rose. "I'll be fine. I'm _always_ fine, in the end."

But Bella, feeling for all the world like a nagging, worried husband, only shifted her chair a little nearer, and drew her friend a little closer.

* * *

It began in the evening, just after Emmett had saddled his horse.

"I'll be back in the morning," Bella had said. "Tomorrow morning, and every day after until your little lady makes her appearance."

"My little _man,_ you mean," Rose had groused. Emmett, waiting rather sheepishly by the door, said nothing at this exchange, but Bella had not missed the careful glance he gave to that bulging, taut belly.

"You'll be well?" Bella asked

"Absolutely."

"You know who to call?" she queried.

"The woman down the road…"

"And you'll be alright tonight?"

" _Perfectly_ well, love. Now go, before it gets too dark…"

"And don't forget _us,"_ Bella had said at once. Rosalie struggled to her feet. "Whether it's at daybreak or noon or complete darkness…"

"I'll call you when it's done," said Rose with a grimace. She got her feet placed under her and took a few steps forward. "Babying is hardly a pleasant business and I suspect you'll enjoy the result rather more than the process."

Bella, squeamish though she was, said nothing.

"You have someone to send? With a message, I mean?"

"To you?" Rose laughed. "Most of the boys in the street would beg me just for the _chance_ to know they're all sweet on you."

Bella felt her cheeks heat up.

"They are _not,"_ she sniffed. "They're children…"

"They're almost grown men, and they know a pretty girl when they see one," she chortled. "Although there is nothing to worry about… they know you're quite taken."

Bella's face flamed.

"Well on _that_ note, I expect we'll let you rest," she said pointedly. Rose took a careful step towards the door. "Remember… if you need _anything,_ you just need to…"

But Bella would never finish her sentence, for at that precise moment, the stone floor beneath Rose's feet grew suddenly wet.

No one said anything for a long, quiet moment. Rosalie, frozen in sudden surprise, stared down at the growing puddle as if she half blamed it for ruining her clean floor. Bella went white— her rosy cheeks paling in an instant at the sight of the mess, and Emmett, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, looking torn between a brilliant, scarlet excitement and absolute mortified terror.

It was he, clearing his throat in the sudden hush, who found the courage to speak first.

"I expect we'll have to delay our departure," he said slowly and at once, both women turned to stare at him. Rosalie looked ready to retort, as if she might send him away after all, but the minute she opened her mouth, it contorted into an uncomfortable grimace. Bella watched as she brought a hand to her middle, which seemed suddenly overburdened, and though she did not say so much as a word, Bella knew exactly what was happening.

When Emmett caught on— a little slower than Bella— she felt herself nudged carefully out of the way as he took her by the hand and led her away from the clear, wet puddle.

"Come," he said at once, and Bella heard a strange sobriety in his voice. "Come, Rosie. To bed with you…"

Bella followed hopelessly after them, taking care to avoid the trail of dripping water that marked Rose's path.

What happened in the next hour, Bella would never be entirely sure. Rosalie, unhappy to be holed up in bed, submitted grudgingly to be tucked and covered, a towel beneath her to catch the last of the water. Emmett, not knowing what to do with himself, hovered so anxiously in the doorway that Bella had taken pity on him and ordered that he take Finn, who bounced at the foot of the bed, to the neighbour, before he might send for some assistance further down the road. He hesitated only for a moment, glancing carefully to the front path where two young soldiers still stood sentry, but once his mind was made up he darted off with the boy on his hip and Bella, suddenly nervous, turned back to Rose with a grin.

"I guess we're having a _sleepover,"_ she said, making Rosalie grimace at the English. "Just like old times…"

"Old times?"

"It's what girls do, where I'm from. Spend the night together, braid each other's hair, share all kinds of secrets…"

"I don't braid very well," Rose quipped dryly. "And I expect you'll learn more than _secrets_ if you intend to linger here. There won't be much of me left to _discover_ come morning. You'll know it all, and quite thoroughly."

Bella laughed, but was cut off by the arrival of another pain. Rosalie was stoic— she did not fret or fuss as she lay calmly in her bed, but Bella saw the twitch of her brow and the uncomfortable shifting beneath her thin, white covers.

The hour seemed to take an age.

In the quiet of the room, Bella made herself small and quiet, perched on a hard, wooden stool by the edge of the bed. Rosalie fidgeted— her fingers, twined together, tapped rhythms on her knuckles, and her foot jiggled beneath the sheets. When Bella asked her, she could not say how long the pains had been coming— she had felt them frequently over the last two weeks, and though she'd felt a few particularly sharp twinges earlier in the day, she had assumed them to be practice pains like before. When Finn had come, Rosalie told her, there had been no mistaking it— a more miserable, unhappy mother there never was or could be, and though Bella suspected some part of her feared a repeat of the ordeal, she said nothing at all that betrayed fear.

And so they spent the next hour together, talking nonsense and making distractions. People, milling about in the late afternoon sun, walked by the sweet, pink house without so much as a glance, and the pair spent some busy minutes observing. Rosalie pointed out her neighbours— proud, haughty Mr. Whatsit with a garden full of weeds, and Mrs. Up-the-Road with her gaggle of twelve unruly children. A group of boys about Jasper's age— all too tall and awkward— snuck past the window to chase a group of giggling, darting girls. Rosalie rolled her eyes, shaking her head in mild disgust, and though Bella was brimmed full of questions, she dared not ask a single one.

It took that full hour for Emmett to make his reappearance, arriving in such a tumult of noise and panic that Rosalie, drawn from her sudden sobriety, barked out a sharp laugh. He tumbled into the house, bringing with him the two soldiers and a strange, old woman. He left the soldiers at the door and brought the latter into the bedroom, peering anxiously across the threshold to where the two women sat.

"On our way, eh?" croaked the old woman, and Bella saw Rosalie's lip disappear between her teeth. "Not to worry, darling, not to worry…"

Her bag, an old, leather thing with a silver buckle on top, swung loosely in Emmett's fist. Emmett did not seem to notice, and only when the woman's expectant frown turned into a scowl, her fingers snapping angrily beneath his nose, did he take the slightest notice. He relinquished it at once, setting it unceremoniously on Rosalie's wooden trunk of clothes, before he came to lurk at Bella's back, looking for all the world like a child without its mother.

The woman's eyes bugged out and her voice rose in a harsh, sharp croak.

" _Out,"_ she snapped. _"Out_ with you. You've got no business in the birthing room, and we've certainly no need of _you_. Go and make yourself useful and boil some water. Make sure the pot is clean, and find some fresh towels. Nothing soiled, now…"

Emmett, blinking in surprise, looked as if he might argue.

" _Out!"_ the woman snapped again. Beneath the sheets, where their hands were clasped, Bella felt Rosalie start. "Off with you, man!"

Bella felt a stirring of pity in her heart.

"Find those towels, boil that water, and then go and tell Edward that I shan't be back before the dawn," Bella said softly. The old woman, grinning her wide, toothless smile, nodded in approval. "He'll be worried if we do not send word, and I've no desire to make him fret."

"I can't leave you here…"

"Leave the men at the door," Bella urged. "They are well trained. We will be quite safe here, with that retinue."

"I…"

Rosalie, her cheeks suddenly mottled, jerked her chin.

"You've been set your task," she said, not unkindly. "Now go and see to it. The day is fast approaching when you'll be _forced_ to obey her, so you might as well start now."

"I can't leave…"

"Go and tell him for me," Bella asked again. "Go and tell him that I must remain where I am, for there is a need here that is greater than any we might find in the palace. I'm not about to leave her here, with a stranger we just met…"

The woman, head ducked, seemed neither bothered nor offended.

"...and so I _must_ stay."

"I will not simply _leave."_

Bella felt a surge of pity deep in her belly.

"I'm not asking you to," she said at once. "I'm not asking you to _stay_ away."

"Men are _not_ welcome in the birthing room…"

Bella interrupted the crone as delicately as she could.

"Go and tell Edward," said Bella again. "Tell him what's happened, and then you're free to do exactly as you please."

"What pleases me is to remain just where I am."

"Go and tell him, please."

He glanced anxiously at Rosalie. Rose, having none of his suffering looks, rolled her eyes and threw a cushion at him, which he caught with deft hands.

"Get on with it," she snapped. "There's nothing helpful to be done here other than fetch water and towels. And they won't be needed for some time yet."

"I may yet be of service…"

"Doubtful," Rose grimaced. "We're in for a long night, these girls and I, and once you've delivered that missive from your Lady to your King, you may park yourself on my sofa in the sitting room and wait it out, just like all nervous men do when a baby is being born."

"I'm not _nervous."_

The old crone cackled wickedly.

"Of course you're not, pet," she chortled. "You men never are."

* * *

Three hours later, when the last of the red sun gave way to a clear, indigo sky, the moon began her nightly reign. She shone like a beacon— a great, white orb rising in the window to the south— and Bella stared right back at that glowing silver face, praying with every ounce of strength for a final deliverance. The moon had blessed them— that was what the crone had said— and as it rose ever higher in the sky, Bella felt the evening's calm give way to a nighttime storm that tossed them on a rough and rocky sea.

Night was a time for women, the crone said. The day was busy— it was bright, and harsh, and hectic, just like the men, and so loud that one could hardly hear herself think. The night was cold, its sky a black mystery that unravelled in sparkles and glints, and only when one sat up at the darkest witching hour could it be fully appreciated in all its forms. Darkness held within itself a great and powerful beauty— a beckoning mistress with depths and furrows unknown and unexplored. That beauty taunted men, those creatures of light that sought to unwind each and every question, but at the closing of the day it was the night that won her fight, pushing back the light until the whole world went quiet.

Women, said the crone, were the products of that beauty. They were the legacy— the lasting imprint of that unconquered night on the brilliant face of day, and though Bella clung to these fancies with a desperate, unrelenting optimism, Rosalie barely heard a word.

As the woman had said, the sunset had brought about a change in the little pink house. The pains had only been a nuisance before the sun had disappeared, earning only a grimace or a wince when they rolled through Rose's belly or her back. Bella had spoken to Rose— made asinine smalltalk to push away the sting, and they had giggled like schoolgirls over fancies and whims. They'd played with cards, Rosalie winning each and every time, and they'd even managed to coax the old woman into letting them eat some fruit. Rosalie had scarfed down her apple in triumphant delight, ignoring the worried mutters of the old midwife, who had vented her anxiety by burning sage in the window to cleanse the air of ghosts.

But as the sun went down, when they'd grown tired of their talk and games, Bella had sensed a change in the small, hot room. The old midwife had seen it at once— from her place by the window she'd sat up a little straighter, her eyes narrowed when Rose had turned away. She'd approached the bedside, reaching her hands beneath the sheets and Bella had looked away then, not wanting to intrude any more than she had to. Only when she heard the woman's approving cluck did she dare look back down to see the stranger's grim smile and Rosalie's frowning grimace.

"Not long now," the crone had said. Behind her, stacked neatly atop the trunk beside the bag, was a pile of clean, laundered towels. The woman took one now, wiping her hands and setting it at Rosalie's feet just in time for her patient to curl in on herself in a sudden agony.

"Not long now," she said again, this time for Bella. "We're nearly there…"

"So soon?"

"Second babies are faster than firsts," said the woman. "And thirds and fourths even faster still. This mother is a hardy one, and I expect we'll have no trouble."

"Trouble?" Bella squeaked. Rosalie, clinging to the bedpost and Bella's fingers, dug her nails in hard. Bella bit back her complaint. "What kind of trouble?"

"Nothing to worry over," soothed the midwife. "Nothing to signify. This lady is strong…"

Rose, sudden tears brimming, turned her head away when the pain released her, and Bella wordlessly offered her a handkerchief.

"I'd give us another hour or two," said the woman. "No more than that."

Although the night was long, Bella did not rest as first one hour, and then two, passed in a flurry of sights and sounds. Bella had never seen a labour before— had never seen a _birth_ other than the school-mandated science video back in ninth grade— and she felt flustered and exhausted by the very notion. The midwife was unmoved— Bella was sent to fetch new towels, cups of cool, sweet water, and new sheets and pillows to prop up the head of the bed. She braided Rose's hair when it got too heavy on her neck, and then took it down again when the breeze made her shiver and shake. She held wooden bowls by the bedside and carried their foul contents away, and she mopped a soft cloth, wet with scented oil, down Rose's arms to keep away the mosquitos that buzzed in through the glassless, screenless window. Before she grew sick and tearful, Rosalie had laughed with her, and with heart hammering wildly in her throat Bella bore it all without complaint, taking her cues from the kind stranger at the foot of the bed.

"That's the ticket, girl, that's it…" The woman, resting on her heels, had her head buried beneath the sheets. Rose's arms covered her face, her lip bloody and raw as her teeth bit into it. Though she could not see, Bella felt the sudden tension and heard the shaky cry when another pain, coming right on top of the last, sunk its heels in. Bella sat down on the bedside, letting Rose grip her as she writhed away from the woman's touch, and she felt the sharp, hot exhales against her stomach through the thin fabric at her waist. She stroked the damp, blonde head in her lap almost absently, her gaze fixed on the stalwart midwife with her hands on Rose's ankles.

"This isn't like last time…" Rose's voice was thin and sharp. "Not at _all_ like last time…"

"It never is," the woman soothed. With some difficulty, for Rose did not want to move, she tried to coax her back into position. Bella felt Rose's trembling arms resist and she whispered a soft, thoughtless reassurance that ended with her hand in Bella's palm and her knees spread on either side of the woman's shoulders.

"Don't fight it, darling… it won't be any easier. Babies never come the same way twice. Firsts are always difficult, and seconds are a surprise."

"It _feels_ different…"

"He's coming fast," said the woman gently. "Faster than your first did, I daresay…"

"Finn took days." Bella could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "He took three days…"

The midwife, frowning, shook her head sharply.

"Not this one, darling. Not this one," she said gruffly. Another pain began to take hold, and the woman gave a quick smile.

"Not long _at all._ I see the head already, plain as day."

Rose's eyes shot open, and though her belly and the sheets blocked her view, she glanced down between her legs.

"Head?" she croaked. "Already?"

"Already, pet," laughed the woman. "Now… let us see what you can do. My Lady?"

Bella's head snapped up.

"Up you get, pet, and over here." The woman pointed to the other side of the bed. "Come around, now, and quickly."

Wordless, and not daring to delay with questions, Bella slipped carefully and gently out of Rose's bed. Rose sniffled when Bella stood, slipping a soft pillow beneath her head before she scrambled around the end of the bed with her eyes fixed on the wall, not daring to look where the woman's hands were moving.

"Good girl," she said. "Now grab that leg and bring it up."

Rose lay on her side now, and Bella slipped onto the bed at her back. She reached out a tentative hand and gripped the underside of Rose's knee, her face suddenly hot with second-hand embarrassment. Rosalie, with a renewed determination, did not seem to notice her discomfort as Bella held it carefully up, pulling just far enough until the woman gave her cue.

"Hold it just there."

Bella froze, the knee hooked about her elbow. The woman, grinning at Rose, pressed a hand to her hard, swollen belly.

"On the next one, you know what to do," she said and Rosalie, suddenly driven, gave a fierce nod. "I don't expect it to take very long… this little one's done great work without any extra help."

Rose nodded again.

"Let us wait for it, then," said the woman. She turned to Bella with a twinkle. "Hold that leg firm, now. Don't let go."

"I won't."

Rose grinned at her.

"Not long now," said the woman again, and Bella, still brimming with worry, saw a familiar hint of stubbornness cross her friend's face. "Not long at all…"

When the pain started, Bella felt as if time itself stood still.

"Grab it, girl!" the woman shouted. "Grab it and _go!"_

Two minutes, ticking by like molasses through a sieve, felt as long as an age as Bella watched the struggle. Her elbow locked tight, she felt the pull of strength against her as the last battle was won. The woman beamed, her hands sticky and wet as she called directions, encouragement, and praise. There were shouts and tears. Sweat and blood. And all the while, though she held fast to that strong, struggling body, Bella felt a curious, powerful longing as this new life came into the world. She bent her head down next to Rose's, whispering anything and everything she could think to say, and when the sheet covering her was thrown back to brighten the light from the lantern, Bella saw just how strange and wonderful life could really be.

Inch by inch, a new face was being brought into the light. First, there was a crown— the round, pink head covered by inky, black down, slick and sticky with mother's blood. On the next pain came a forehead, wrinkled and red, with dainty, curving eyebrows. Eyes came next, followed by a rush of nose and mouth, and then a pop, and a chin, and then the woman was cradling a little face between her palms.

"Almost there, darling… we've almost got it now. Just a few more and we'll be all done."

Bella, her squeamishness all but forgotten, felt a lump in her throat.

"Beautiful, Rose…" she laughed. Rosalie's eyes fell shut as they waited. "She's got lots of hair…" Rose grinned at her, cracking an eye open to see, though the effort was futile. She squeezed Bella's hand instead, letting her head loll back against her pillows.

The final pain seemed to take an age. Bella saw it on Rose's face before she felt the pull of the leg against her arm, sitting up straight to keep that limb just where the woman wanted it. The midwife's brow furrowed, her hands holding fast as the pain began its peak, and when it seemed like there could be no more fight left to tear this child from its mother, there was a gasp, a scream, and a great triumphant cry before a slippery, white creature shot out onto the bed in a rush.

For a moment, the world stood still. Rosalie, chest heaving with exertion, sagged into her pillows. Bella put the leg back down on the bed. The woman, pawing at the tiny newborn, snatched a towel from the stack and Bella felt her friend begin to cry. At once Bella reached over and embraced her, feeling those weak and tired arms grip her with a ferocious, desperate hold. Bella felt the changes at once— that hard belly gone soft, her skin clammy with sweat— and when the new mother's face pressed into her shoulder, she felt her sleeve dampened by a flood of tears. There were tears of joy, brought even higher when the midwife coaxed a hearty, high wail from the tiny, wiggling baby, and tears of pain for the struggle she had suffered. There were tears of relief for a labour now ended, and tears of love that only a mother really knew, reserved for that precious, lasting bond between herself and her children.

Sniffling, Bella pressed a kiss to that damp, golden head and watched in dumb amazement as a tiny, wet, and writhing creature was drawn up from between its mother's legs. At once, Rose's eyes snapped open and she turned, shifting onto her back to scoot up against her pillows before she reached out to take the wailing, wiggling baby into her arms.

"It's a daughter, darling," crooned the old woman. "A brand new daughter for you…"

The child wailed. Her cheeks were mottled red, slightly swollen from birth, but her nose and chin were white as lilies. Her chest fluttered and her little feet kicked, and although she was still wet and slick, Rosalie clutched the baby to her heart and wept.

"A girl," she sobbed, kissing the tiny creature on her cheeks, her head, her hands… "A girl, Bella. _My_ girl…"

"She's beautiful."

"My own girl!"

Bella, finally losing her battle, dissolved into a mess of tears.

The midwife, satisfied that mother and baby were both healthy and well, left the three of them alone as she busied herself once again beneath the newly replaced sheets. The cord was cut and tied, and the squirming, crying bundle was wrapped in a white linen swaddle. Rosalie sat herself up in the bed, letting Bella help her when her shaking arms failed, and together they gazed, poring over every detail of that tiny baby from her soft, pink head to her tiny, round toes.

The baby was a dainty little thing. Small and plump, with long, slender fingers that curled around Rose's pinky, she peered up at their tired, smiling faces with eyes as wide as coins. She had stopped crying now, had ceased her squalling, and took instead to staring with eyes of the purest, sweetest baby blue. They did not focus, did not rest on any one thing, but instead darted around towards the lamp, where a soft, yellow glow flickered on the wall. Her legs, still curled like they had been in her mother's womb, wiggled beneath her towel, and as Rose brought the end of it to dab at a spot of blood along her soft pink cheek, she turned her head and sneezed. Rose cupped her hand around the small head, running her thumb through the downy hair which, while sparse, was as black as a winter sky.

"She's _beautiful,_ Rose," said Bella in a whisper. "She's absolutely _perfect."_

"I was so convinced she'd be a boy," replied Rose. "I was almost _certain_ of it."

"I'm glad she's not," Bella said. "I think she'll do you good…"

"She'll do us _all_ some good," Rose replied. "She'll do us all a _world_ of good."

* * *

It was Bella, holding the precious, sleeping bundle to her chest, who came out into the sitting room, where an anxious, wide-eyed soldier sat with pale, sleepless eyes.

"I heard the cry," he said, his voice low and quiet. "Is Rose…?"

"All is well," Bella soothed. Her own face, flushed and tearstained, was sore with smiling. "All is perfectly, wonderfully well."

"And the little one?" His eyes flickered to the swaddling in her arms.

"She is well, too," Bella said. Carefully, she stepped across the rug. "She is healthy, and perfect in every way."

At once, Bella saw Emmett sit up. His gaze, flickering between Bella and the bundle, shifted instead to stare at the copse of dark hair peeking through the blankets. The baby slept on, her little face impassive in the grip of her rest, and had she not been looking at just the right time, she might have missed the way Emmett's fingers twitched.

"Rosalie is sleeping," explained Bella gently, taking another step closer. "The midwife is with her, and the baby has been fed and changed…"

"Good."

She stepped closer. Emmett, gaze still fixed, sat up a little straighter.

"Do you want to see her?" Bella asked.

"I couldn't disturb her…"

"You won't." Gently, so as not to jostle the baby, Bella sat herself on the edge of the sofa next to him where he peered over the edge of the blanket to that sleeping face.

At once, Bella saw his shoulders sag, a nervous smile creeping across his face.

"A girl?" he croaked, and Bella gave a nod. "A little girl?"

"The very littlest," she laughed. "Tiny, really, when you get a good look at her…"

And to her delight, that worried, nervous countenance melted with a quiet sigh. She saw his hand before she felt it, his warm fingers resting on the cool skin of her wrist before he gathered his courage and reached out, stroking his knuckle down the baby's warm, downy cheek.

Bella had never seen him cry before— indeed, she had not seen him even _close_ to tears _—_ but she saw that one, lonely drop now as it dripped from his nose to fall on the swaddling. The baby did not notice— indeed, _Bella_ would not have seen it had she not been paying attention— but even though she had, Emmett did not seem to mind. His gentle finger turned to a cupped hand, and before she knew it she had passed that tiny creature into those strong, capable arms, where she seemed both infinitely small, and infinitely safe.

Bella felt her eyes prickle again when she saw the wonder etched on that face of stone. He was mesmerized— disbelief, worry, terror, and _love_ all warring for dominance before he reached down again, touching the tiny nose, the rosebud lips, and the long, delicate fingers.

The first rays of morning sun, barely glowing in the east, fell through the front window and onto the baby's sleeping face. Bella saw him grin— saw the thick, careful swallow to keep away the tears— as her feet began to kick. Her hand splayed, reaching up to grip the finger he offered, and when those wide, blue eyes opened and fixed on his face, he beamed a wide, happy smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said. He stood, bringing the baby closer to the window. Another beam, just peeking through the two houses across the lane, fell on her delicate wisps of hair. Emmett stroked that crown, running a finger over the soft, wispy hair before he brought his lips to the newborn's cheek, breathing in the smell of milk.

"The sun says happy birthday," he whispered, tilting her carefully to see the sky. "Your very first sunrise on your very first day, and I am _honoured_ to spend it here with you."

 **A/N: An abundance of thanks goes out to each and every one of you who put up with the long wait between 37 and now. As you'll know if you read my note (which has been deleted), I accepted a rather unexpected teaching job back in November that's been eating up most of my time both during the work day and in the evenings. Free time has been scarce, which means that my writing has had to take a back seat for a little while. I'm finally getting into the swing of things, but it seems like there's a never-ending flood of problems that need solving. I can't promise when the next chapter will be out, but I'm going to try and make a point of giving myself some time to write when I'm not at the school. Writing is my outlet and I owe it to myself and to you to try and keep a somewhat consistent schedule.**

 **As for the chapter... I've been waiting for this baby for almost a year now, and I'm sure all of you were growing just as impatient. Had I waited any longer, Rose would have given birth to a toddler. Thanks for sticking it out.**

 **As always, I'd love to hear what you think.**


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

Bella walked home in the dawning sun, her pale cheeks flushed pink with the exaltation of the night. The city was still asleep, its people huddled down in little pallets of warmth as the new day rose, orange and pink behind the towering city walls. Houses, silhouetted in black, made shadows on the road, turning the worn, packed earth cool and damp. Bella felt the chill of it on her toes as she walked slowly down the path, her body heavy with tiredness. She felt the night's struggle, her legs as stiff as steel as she dragged herself along, though her eyes were bright and alert as she glanced back at the two strange men who trailed her.

She had left Emmett at the cottage. Rosalie yet slept— a well-deserved slumber after her night of toil— and he had been so enraptured by the swaddled, pink newcomer that Bella did not have the heart to tear him away. She had kissed the baby, pressing her lips to the warm and downy cheek, and left her with him when she took her leave. Emmett hardly noticed her departure— had glanced just long enough to make sure his soldiers followed her to the road, seeing her safely back to the palace. Once she and her guard had cleared the fence, Bella had peered back at the window to see Emmett bent low, his lips moving unheard in the distance between them.

She held that picture in her mind— the man, tall and rapt, with the small girl in the crook of his arm, both faces tanned brilliant orange in the light of the new day. She held it close as she lumbered down the path, and she kept it still when she came upon the great portcullis, its black bars rough and cold with dew.

"Hullo!" called the sentry at her back. "Raise the gate!"

The noise was jarring. Clinking chains turned to rattling steel, which clanged against immovable stone as it rose, inch by inch, to disappear into the great arch above. Bella watched it as it went— watched the great spikes disappear into shadow, the warm, red stone stained grey from centuries of scraping steel. The grooves in the rock were smooth, long, semi-circles that housed the great, round bars, burrowed so deep into the ground that there was not a hope on Earth of forcing one's way through. Bella blinked up at it, watching as the final edge of a dusty, dirty spike disappeared, before she felt a gentle hand on her elbow.

"You must be tired," remarked the sentry, and Bella allowed herself to be led into the yard. "Come along, now. The King will be waiting."

Almost numb with exhaustion, Bella slowly and carefully picked her way through the grass towards the castle doors. She heard the portcullis being lowered again, the rhythmic clinking of gears and chains setting her pace, and though she felt suddenly cold when the breeze picked up, it was not long until she stood before the tall, polished wood of the great front door. The wood was so thick that even her strongest knock would have made no sound within, and she glanced curiously at the sentry behind her, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

The soldier said nothing but gestured quietly to a long, silver chain that hung to the left.

"The bell," he explained when Bella did not take it. "To call the footman."

Somewhat shame-faced, Bella reached out and gave it a tug, feeling a surprising weight on the other end. In the castle, beyond the thick, impenetrable walls, Bella heard the faint _bong_ of a large, sonorous bell. It echoed in the quiet and Bella cringed, though neither of her guards seemed at all perturbed by the sound. They were as stoic as stone, eyes darting across the grounds and the walls for any signs of danger, and though Bella would have liked nothing more than to sit on the low garden wall that lined the path, she held herself resolutely upright.

They waited together in silence. First one minute, then two, and Bella, feeling more exhausted by the second, felt her eyes drift closed. She felt the heaviness in her limbs as if they were made of lead, and try though she might, she could not help the slump in her shoulders when she leaned her weight against the wall. The breeze kept her wakeful, though her eyes remained closed, and she longed for her bed, with her furs and her pillows. With each cool gust of wind that blew up the hem and sleeves of her gown, Bella felt goosebumps erupt on her arms and legs and shivers course down the length of her spine. Neither soldier said a word— they kept their eyes steadfastly on the grounds and the walls, and though they'd been awake just as long as she, there were no signs at all that either man grew weary. They did not shiver— not in their thick, golden armour— and their hands did not tremble on their spears like hers did on the chain.

In the end, she did not know how long she stood, for when the metal latch inside the castle clunked and the hinges began to move, she felt herself jolted back to awareness with a quick start. A waft of warm, fragrant air washed over her as the castle doors creaked open. It smelled of rose oil, the preferred fragrance used in lamps and cisterns, with a hint of yeast and vanilla from the basement kitchens. It made her mouth water as she stepped eagerly over the threshold, coming face-to-face with a young footman who eyed her with mild astonishment.

"My Lady," he bowed, stepping aside to let her through. "I'm sorry for the delay…"

"I daresay I woke you," she said at once, an apologetic grimace on her lips. "I've returned rather late…"

"Not at all," said the footman, waving her inside. Her guards, their task accomplished, excused themselves with a quiet bow as the door fell shut. Bella barely had time to wave them off before the door was bolted fast. "Not at all, My Lady… the maids have been up for hours, cleaning hearths and preparing breakfast, and all of the footmen rise with the sun."

"Every day?" she queried, smoothing down her tangled braid. The man grinned at her. "Even on holidays?"

"Perhaps not," said the man slowly, "but on working days, we rise."

Bella breathed a sigh. When she stretched, arching her back, she heard the telltale pop of bones.

"I am not used to such late nights," she said by way of an explanation. "There's been…"

When she trailed off, yawning, the footman finished for her.

"A baby," he said, nodding. "Marta told us."

"Correct," said Bella with a grin. "A very _pretty_ baby."

"A girl, then?" asked the footman.

"Yes," agreed Bella. "A fine, lovely girl…"

"Praise be."

Bella, feeling rather awkward, said nothing when the man bowed again, wondering if he bowed to the Gods, or to _her_. She turned quickly away, her face mottled with embarrassment, before the man could see.

"To bed, I think." She said behind her hand. "Is Alice still asleep?"

"I believe so."

"Good." Bella glanced towards the hallway, which would lead her to the tower steps. "Good…"

The footman cleared his throat and Bella paused, looking askance. The footman watched her, his eyes alight with some unidentifiable passion, before he spoke again.

"His Majesty," began the lad, his voice cracking. "His Majesty…"

"Edward?"

It was the boy's turn to blush.

"Yes, ma'am. Just so… His Majesty has asked for you to come to him upon your return."

Bella, mind still lingering on the warmth and solitude of her tower room, glanced instead towards the great, grand staircase that led to the upper levels of the castle proper. The Queen's Tower had its own entrance in a guarded antechamber off of the Council Rooms, and though Bella sometimes found herself turned around when she went exploring in the great, sprawling palace, she knew well enough how to find her way _there_.

Dreams of her bed dashed at once, she turned again to the footman with a query.

"Where?" she asked. "Where is he?"

"In his rooms, I believe. He would have waited in yours, but felt that it might make your girl nervous to have a strange man lurking."

Alice, undoubtedly asleep in their great, overlarge bed, would indeed have been put off by a man in the antechamber. Bella did not doubt Edward's propriety— he wouldn't have dared to even _look_ at Alice had he stayed— but no matter how disinterested he was, or how noble his intentions, poor Alice wouldn't have slept a wink under the watchful, brooding eye of her great and noble King.

"I will go, then…" said Bella feebly, setting off towards the stairs. "Is he awake?"

"He is," the man replied. "The kitchens sent his breakfast not twenty minutes ago."

"Thank you," said Bella. "I'm sorry… I don't know your name."

"Johan," quipped the boy at once. "Johan, my lady. One of His Grace's minor footmen."

"Thank you," said Bella again, "for your help. If you see Alice, will you let her know where I have gone?"

"Indeed, I will." Johan bowed to her again. "Indeed, My Lady. If you have need of anything…"

"I will ring," Bella said. "Thank you."

The man bowed again.

"Enjoy your day."

He grinned, but said nothing more.

In the dimness of the corridor, Bella walked, her boots clicking noisily against the echoing stone of the staircase. The sun was still low— not yet bright enough to shine through the gallery windows on the upper level— and so the staircase was dark but for the orange glow of flame from the lamps that hung from the bannister. She held fast to that bannister, her fingers sliding against smooth, polished stone, until she reached the third floor on shaking legs, her knees trembling with strain.

The landing was as silent as a tomb. The pair of soldiers, dressed in the familiar gold and red of Kingsguards, neither spoke nor moved as Bella came tripping up the steps. She saw their eyes, shielded behind helmets of thick, golden brass, follow her as she moved, and though she hesitated when she saw the upright spears held in tight, wary fists, they made no move to stop her.

When she passed them they bowed, deep, silent, and low. Bella felt her face flush red as she nodded in return, rushing by as fast as she dared into the blackened hallway lined with closed, ornate doors.

Edward had shown her these rooms one afternoon, when the sun had been high and the day, warm. She recalled how they had traipsed from room to room, each as glorious as the last, filled with fine furniture, delicate window dressings, and polished, wooden floors. For Edward, who had lived here his entire life, it was simply a house. He had chuckled at her abject delight, and had laughed outright when she'd run reverent fingers over the delicate tatted lace and woodwork. For Bella, who came from a world of prefabricated, pressboard furniture and mass production, it had felt like a step back in time. Curtains embellished with tiny, pearlescent beads and cushions sparkling with gems as small as seeds made her gasp with delight so often that Edward, heartily amused, had promised her an entire Kingdom of such trinkets if only she'd always be so happy.

Bella rushed past these rooms now in a blur, her skirt swishing against doors and walls. She moved by the glow of oil lamps alone, each splashing a circle of warm, feeble light on the cold, stone floor, until she reached the very last door at the end of the long corridor, which was just as steadfastly closed as all the others. It was imposing, so tall and grand compared to all the others, and when she reached up with timid fingers to tap against the wood, she felt almost like a child.

"Enter," came a deep, brusque voice from within. Bella felt her belly erupt in butterflies at the sound. When she did not move, hesitating still as she reached for the latch, she heard his voice call out again, this time louder, and more curt.

"Come in!"

With quiet, gentle steps, Bella crossed the threshold of the door on tiptoe. His door did not squeak like the one outside, and though she still wore the hard-soled boots she'd been wearing the day before, she moved as quietly as a mouse into the bright, outer chamber. She saw him at once, the red of his hair flaming in the budding light from the window where he sat hunched over his desk with a pen in one hand and a buttered roll in the other.

When she did not speak he looked up in confusion, his irritation dying at once when he laid eyes on her. His pen fell forgotten to the table, blotting the page he was working on, and he sat his meager breakfast on a china plate that lay precariously close to the edge of the deep windowsill.

"You've returned," he smiled, and at once, she came to meet him. He opened his arms to her, as he so often did now that their engagement had been announced, and she felt her weariness increase tenfold when she was wrapped in the warmth of his embrace.

"I have," she sighed, feeling his chin atop her head. "I'm told you asked for me?"

"Over and over again," he laughed, pulling back to take a good look at her. "I _always_ long for you…"

Bella, choosing to ignore the faint flush on her face, looked up with a grin.

"It's a girl," she said simply, and his smile only grew. "A fine, healthy girl."

"Praise be," said Edward. "Praise be… is Rosalie well?"

"Quite."

"Does the baby favour her mother?"

"She's pretty as a picture, if that's what you mean," chortled Bella, allowing him to lead her to the sofa by the fire. "She has the finest little fingers and the bluest eyes…"

"Her mother's eyes?"

"Too early to tell," said Bella with a laugh. "She is round and pink, and though Rose's hair is golden, the baby's is as dark as a midnight sky."

Edward only grinned.

"I am happy for her," he said with a satisfied sigh. "To have a son is a blessing, but a daughter is a gift."

"A gift?"

"Always," returned Edward. "I've no sisters of my own, but that was neither my mother's choice nor her will."

"Did she want girls?"

"Don't _all_ mothers want girls?" Edward returned, his eyebrow raised in question. Bella felt her face flush red. "Someone to whom they might pass on their wisdom and learning?"

"I wouldn't know," she said delicately. "In case you've forgotten… I've no children whatsoever, be they girls or boys."

Edward laughed again, his humour and good nature rushing back in an instant. Bella felt his impulsive squeeze, the press of lips against her cheek, and she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. When Edward spoke again it was in a whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear, even in the soft hush.

"Not yet, Bella," he said. "Not yet… but you will. Someday."

"Someday," Bella said wistfully. She recalled that delicious, warm weight in her arms, the way the baby seemed to _fit_ there, just as if she had been made to lay in that very spot. Bella longed to feel that warmth again, to stroke a soft, new cheek or kiss a downy head…

"Someday," she said again, "but not _this_ day."

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "But all the same… I am happy for Rosalie, and for Finn."

"And for Emmett," Bella put in wryly. "When I left, he had eyes for no one else."

Edward grinned.

"It won't be long now," said Edward. "Truth be told, I've been expecting it."

"Expecting what?"

"His request," Edward replied. "He's wanted her since the moment she arrived, I'm almost sure of it."

"What would he need to request?"

Edward kissed her.

"Her hand," said Edward gently. "In marriage."

"Marriage?"

"I expect so, yes…"

"Who would he ask?"

"Rose," said Edward quickly. "And me."

"You?"

"Aye." He leaned back in his seat. "It is one of my more _uncommon_ duties."

Bella frowned, saying nothing.

"When a woman has no father, no brothers, and no mother, the King is expected to fill in," he said. "It's quite rare, but it _has_ happened."

"Fill in?" Bella queried. "As what?"

Edward shrugged.

"As… mediary, I suppose," he said slowly.

"Wait… you're the _dad?"_ Bella felt laughter bubbling up in her throat. _"Rosalie's_ dad?"

Edward, catching the teasing in her voice, poked her side in the very spot he knew was most ticklish. As expected, Bella giggled and squirmed, slapping his hand away when he went in for another. She scooted further down the sofa before he caught her up once more, offering a conciliatory squeeze that she grudgingly accepted.

"In essence, _yes,"_ he responded. "Strange though it is. Emmett will ask me before he asks her… without permission, the union is not lawful."

"Would you ever say no?"

Bella saw a solemnity settle over him at once and his voice went sober and soft.

"Not unless I had a very good reason," he replied. "I've not had to deny anyone yet, though precious few have come forward with the request. It is a rare thing for a King to deny a match, and I pray that I will never have to, should both parties desire it."

Bella fell silent, stifling a yawn. Drawn in by the warmth of him, she curled her feet beneath her legs on the sofa and leaned heavily, letting him settle her comfortably against his side. They sat like that for a moment, his fingers trailing over her shoulders, and though she had a hundred different things she would like to say, she felt them all die away as she closed her eyes. Edward did not speak— he only continued his lazy patterns on her arm— and it lulled her into a light, dozy sleep before she felt him shift beneath her.

"You must be exhausted," he said gently, his lips at her ear. "Come, sweetheart. A couch is no place to sleep. To bed with you, now."

Bella, feeling an ache deep in her bones, did not offer so much as a peep of protest.

"There will be plenty of time to talk when you're rested," he continued. "Come. The bed is warm, and the sheets are fresh."

Bella laughed.

"Fresh or not, they are welcome," she replied, cracking her eyes open again. "Thank you, Edward…"

"I've done nothing," he responded at once. He helped her to her feet and together, they walked towards the bedchamber. "Nothing at all…"

When they reached the large four-poster bed, Bella pulled down the sheets with clumsy fingers. She nearly fell onto the mattress, feeling the softness of feathers beneath her skirts, and reached down to unlace the knots on her boots. Edward knelt before her, nudging her fingers out of the way to make quick work of them, and when he slid each foot from its sheath she sighed, wiggling her stocking feet in relief. She slid herself beneath the bedclothes, the heavy, warm weight settling easily on her shoulders, and she felt a wave of such potent sleepiness that she barely had time to thank him.

"Sleep, now," Edward said, laughing as she fought to keep her eyes open. "Sleep, and take your rest…"

But before he could go, Bella caught up his hand.

"Edward?"

"What is it?" He knelt again by the edge of the bed. "What is it, Bella?"

She felt a tightness in her throat that had nothing to do with sorrow.

"Do you think…"

"Do I think what?"

She felt that ache again— that deep and powerful fist that gripped her heart like a vice— and she longed to know whether he felt the same. The question tumbled out like water over stone, slick and smooth.

"Do you think that _you_ would ever want a daughter?"

Edward's answering kiss was more than enough.

"I will love whatever the gods see fit to send us," he replied, his sweet breath washing over her face, "be it one son or twenty daughters."

Bella snorted indelicately.

"I'll settle for just one," she yawned, her eyes drifting closed. "Lord only knows what we'd do with _twenty."_

* * *

When Bella woke it was with the suddenness of a lightning storm, all crackles and bangs and starts. A fist on the door thrummed an anxious rhythm. Murmured voices in the antechamber rose like chittering birds. A groan, irritated and stupid with sleep, made the bed shift and shudder and Bella, eyes snapping open in the space of an instant, felt herself at once glaringly awake and dreadfully, terribly tired.

"Hush, Bella," came Edward's gruff voice. His face, pale with sleep, was creased from the pillow. "Hush… go back to bed."

But Bella, rubbing a clumsy hand over her eyes, sat up beneath the covers.

It was high afternoon, Bella saw, and the sun glared through the curtains of the western window of the bedroom. The room was still dim— Edward had pulled the shades and dampened the fire as she slept, and, in a moment of apparent weakness, had succumbed to sleep himself. She watched as he donned his sandals, ignoring the persistent knocking at the door once more, and though she drew the covers up to her chin, it did nothing to hide her from the wide-eyed boy who stood quivering on the other side. The page, Roberto, held his hat in his hands, his fingers wringing the fabric in an anxious display.

"Beg pardon, Your Grace…"

"No matter," Edward grumbled. "What is it?"

"I…"

"Yes?"

"My Lord…"

Irritation rising like a snake, Bella saw the briefest hint of anger cross his face before he snapped again.

"Speak, boy," he commanded at once. The child trembled. "Speak, and tell me why we are disturbed."

The boy, looking almost tearful, spared Bella the most fleeting of glances before he ducked his head, his little voice muffled.

"It is the Guard," he squeaked, and at once Edward bristled. "The Guard has called for you."

"Which guard?"

"The Kingsguard," replied the boy.

"For what purpose?"

"I do not know."

Edward sighed.

"Thank you."

"My King…" The child bowed thrice. "My Lady…"

Edward shut the door again, leaning his forehead heavily against the wood.

"I'm sorry he woke you," he said after a long pause. "You should go back to sleep… it is only afternoon."

But Bella, more awake now than she had any right to be, simply shook her head.

"Sleep will keep," she said, swinging herself out of the bed. The ties of her dress, loosened by her slumber, hung limp at her sides. "It will make tonight all the sweeter."

Edward chuckled.

"I must leave you," he said mournfully. "I've no idea what's happened, but something must have for them to call me hence…"

"Then I will go with you," said Bella, resolute. "If you'll give me time enough to fix my hair and fasten this dress…"

Edward, saying nothing in reply, simply watched her as she tightened the buttons and ties of her gown. She was far from indecent— there was no hint of ankle, or wrist, or bosom to disgrace her— but she donned her vest, and tightened her skirt before she pulled the shining ribbon from the end of her plait, letting her hair fall loose over her shoulders.

At once, Edward was beside her, his fingers trailing over the tangled, glossy mess.

"You have the most delightful hair," he noted, running his knuckles over the curls. Bella fought a smile. "I can never decide just what colour to call it…"

"Just plain brown," she laughed, gathering it at the base of her neck. She used the ribbon to tie it, keeping it out of her face. Edward, frowning, shook his head in protest, taking up a long, tangled piece and holding it up to his face.

"Nothing _plain_ about it," he refuted, and Bella watched as he examined the curl in the chink of light from the window. "Brown it might be, but black, and yellow, and red too…"

Bella blushed, taking the piece back and twining it gently around the rest of the bunch. Edward let it go without protest, though his hand remained outstretched, as if in query. They stood like that, each examining the other, until another knock sounded at the door and Edward, flashing with annoyance, turned to fling the door open.

"What?" he barked, addressing the golden soldier with growing irritation. "Can I not take five minutes to don my tunic?"

The man ducked his head in apology.

"My King, there is great need…"

Bella seized his hand.

"Great need?" Edward answered, raising a brow. "From whom?"

"The guards, My King…"

"Which guards?"

"The city watch."

Edward froze, his head cocked.

"Is there violence?"

"No, My King."

"Danger?"

The man hesitated. At once, Bella felt Edward bristle, and she gave his fingers a sharp and poignant squeeze.

"We know not," said the guard slowly. "I only know what I've been told…"

"And what _have_ you been told?"

"That there is a man," said the soldier, and Bella felt him freeze. "A strange man, with a strange accent, come to demand an audience with the King."

"I do not answer _demands,"_ said Edward lowly, "most especially not like _this."_

The soldier hedged again.

"It is best if you see for yourself," he said finally, and Bella slipped her feet into her sandals. "It is best if you… come."

Together, hand in hand, Edward and Bella followed the sentry out of the antechamber and through the long, dim hallway with its closed wooden doors and tall, vaulted ceilings. They said not a word, walking silently through the corridor, and descended the staircase in quiet anticipation until they reached the doors to the throne room.

Outside, Bella blinked in surprise at the retinue of guards, soldiers, and footmen who were assembled, all engaged in agitated conversation that ceased the instant they saw their monarch. They bowed in tandem, as if each was moved by marionette strings, and when they rose back up to their full height, the footmen scattered and the guards took up their arms.

It was one man, older than the rest, who took the first step forward.

"Ren," Edward said with a nod. The man bowed again. "What is this about?"

The men bristled, but one look from the soldier kept them all silent.

"A man, Your Grace," replied Ren. "A _strange_ man…"

The crowd murmured again.

"Arrived at the gates," he continued. "Demanding to see you."

"Me?"

"Aye."

"For what purpose?"

"He will not say…"

Edward frowned.

"And why was he brought here?"

Titters rose again, like the chatter of little mice, and Ren shot them such a look of venom that even the boldest— a young, dashing lad with a handsome face and stubbled beard— fell silent.

"He is…"

"He is what?"

"I… _believe_ …"

She felt the thrum of anger in him like a shock. At once, she took her hand away from his, distracting him just long enough to loop her arm through the crook of his.

"You believe what?" Edward queried, though he did not take his eyes from her. Concern shone there, liquid and bright, though Bella paid it absolutely no mind.

"I believe that you should see for yourself," said the man. "We will take him to the dungeons at your command, Sire, but I think you will want to hear what he has to say."

At once, Edward pursed his lips.

"Then open the doors," he commanded. "Open them wide, and let us see this stranger who makes such demands."

The throne room, strange in its near emptiness, echoed like a cavern. The creak of the doors bounced off of stone walls and high ceilings, in which shone great, glassed skylights to let in the afternoon sun. Beams hit the yellowed floor in great cascades, making the crystalline deposits in the rock shine like glitter, and though the dais where the dual thrones rested was veiled in shadow, the rest of the room gleamed like a great, yellow jewel.

The doors slammed shut behind them, making Bella jump. Two soldiers, Ren and another that Bella did not know, stood sentry at the threshold, their hands clasped tightly on their sharp spears, which were pointed carefully towards the western wall. Bella turned to look where they were directed and gasped out loud when she caught sight of the figure who stood there, his face aglow in yellow light from above as he stared, hard and cold, at the commotion near the door.

At once, Edward took a step forward, putting himself between Bella and the stranger.

"Greetings," he said, though he made no motion to advance further. The man, unmoved, remained utterly still. "Welcome."

The stranger's brow twitched.

"You demand an audience with the King?" Edward said, his voice carrying clear across the room. Bella, heart thumping uncomfortably, watched swirling eddies of dust settle on the crown of the stranger's head. Edward, stepping carefully forward, disturbed the spirals and sent sparkling particles into disarray. "Come forward, where I can see you properly."

At once, though his lip was raised in displeasure, the man obeyed the command. The light on his face dimmed when he stepped into a shadow, and Bella, peering cautiously around Edward's broad shoulder, took a long and careful look.

He was a tall man, dressed in fine black riding clothes edged with a cord of brilliant, but dusty, silver. Fair haired and fair skinned, his cheeks tanned brown where the sun had beaten down upon him, he held his work-worn hands in balled fists at his sides. His face was handsome— a square jaw, narrow nose, and high, sharp cheekbones made him look strong and capable, but the piercing, icy blue of his eyes was hard and wary. He looked like a gentleman— Bella thought that he would not have seemed out of place among the merchants of the west, and she wondered suddenly if this was where he came from.

"King," said the man, breaking the silence in his low, rumbling voice. It made Bella shiver. Edward, frozen and frowning, watched the man with undisguised suspicion.

"Who are you?"

The man did not answer.

"I come with a message," said the man slowly and Bella, unschooled though she was, caught the hint of a strange, yet familiar accent. "I come with a _request."_

Edward froze, his cheeks flushed.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

The man, suddenly fierce, looked upon them so hotly that Bella felt a pang of sudden nerves, watery and quivering deep in her core. Edward seemed unmoved— the only sign of his displeasure being the way his fingers curled into a tight, white fist at his back. The man did not see this and so did not heed the warning it gave, and spoke sharply in the cool, quiet air.

"I come to request the return of my sister," said the man, and Bella let out an audible gasp. "I come to you to demand her safe passage West, along with that of her child, my nephew."

Bella, feeling shaky and surprised, took an unwilling step away. The man's eyes snapped to her, as cold and sharp as ice, and Edward let out a low rumble of warning as Bella stumbled back.

"You do not speak to her," he growled angrily. "You do not _look_ at her…"

The stranger looked obligingly away, though there was no duck of a chin, no contrition or apology on any line of his face.

"I claim her as my sister, and I claim her as my Queen," said the man imperiously. "Unlawfully taken and unrightfully kept."

"You have no Queen," snapped Edward, enraged. "You, of all people, should know _that._ I know too well what happens to Queens in your _cesspit…"_

"I know what happens to _Kings,_ too," said the man slickly, grinning at this provocation. "I know what happens when they plead, and I know what they look like when they die."

The man's eyes flickered, darting to the gilded portrait of the Edward's late parents. Bella saw the brilliance of his gaze, his utter disregard as he studied their regal, strong faces, and when he laughed, low and cold, she saw Edward's fist clench. The man licked his lips, his face twisted in a sneering smile, and Bella felt such a rush of terrible, boiling sorrow that she almost released Edward's hand, which shook with sudden rage.

"You look like her, you know," said the stranger idly. "Your mother. She was pretty… we almost didn't send her back."

The guards by the door, overhearing every word, bristled at once. Edward, white as bone and trembling with rage, reached to his waist for the sword that was not there, his fingers closing on empty air. Bella saw the soldiers advance, their spears poised and ready, but before they could pounce upon the stranger, Bella caught up Ren by the sleeve of his shirt, whispering desperately in his ear.

"Send for Emmett," said Bella at once, and Ren blinked down at her. "Send for him, and send for Rosalie."

The soldier did not move.

" _Please."_ Her whisper was sharp, even over the stranger's cold laughter. "Please… send someone to fetch them."

* * *

In the dusky, quiet throne room, Bella watched from a bench along the wall as Edward paced across the floor. The room was silent but for his footsteps, cascading echoes that bounced from brick to brick across the span, empty but for the pair of them, rattled and sore. The sun had dipped behind the mountains, leaving them in an indigo fog that threatened darkness with each passing minute. The air, warm from the heat of day, had grown cold with the setting sun. Edward did not notice the chill— flushed and agitated, he ran angry fingers through his long, untied hair, with eyes of fire sending scalding stares to the oval path he trod. Bella, huddled quietly in her shadowed corner, said nothing, her legs curled to her chest in an effort to stave off her shivers.

The stranger had been taken away. Seized by Ren and his mate, the man's hands had been drawn behind his back in a tight hold before they'd marched him unceremoniously from the room, past all the hissing guards who yet lingered in the hall, to be thrown unceremoniously into a locked council bedroom next to the council hall. He had said nothing as they'd led him out— not one sour word or squeak of protest— but Edward's glowering anger was more than enough to make up for it, his face as hot and furious. Bella watched him, wanting both to comfort and to flee, and though he directed neither an unkind glance or word towards her, she did not know quite what to say.

And so she said nothing, watching his anxious pacing up and down the room, turning heel each time he reached the dais and the door.

Edward let out a huff, making Bella jump, and she got to her feet as gently as she could. Edward caught her movement, his eyes suddenly wide, and froze in place. She swallowed, her throat curiously tight, and he did not miss it, his shoulders slumping as he ran a final hand through his hair, blowing out a long, harsh breath.

"I am frightening you," he said softly, and Bella shook her head at once. "I'm being rather inhospitable."

"You're angry," she replied. "And rightfully so."

"I am _furious,"_ he corrected at once. "Furious, and sad, and altogether _tired,_ Bella…"

At once, hearing that weariness deep within him, Bella took a cautious step forward into the halo of dim light filtering from the inky sky above. The torches were not lit— Edward would admit no footman or maid to tend them— and so in those last vestiges of light and day, he let her come to him, resting her soft, smooth cheek against his bare shoulder.

"All will be well," she said gently, stroking a hand down his tense, hardened back. "All will be well, in the end…"

"He saw my mother. He saw her when…"

"I know," whispered Bella. Her own heart, sore and grieving for him, gave a quick throb. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for…"

"I'm sorry for this hurt," she said at once. "I'm sorry that he's agitated you…"

He sniffed, pulling her a little tighter to him.

"I did not know Rosalie had a brother," he said after a moment. "She never said."

"She has two," Bella recalled. "She told me so in the jungle. Twins, older by a year."

"They do not favour…"

"They have the same eyes," Bella replied. "The same blue eyes…"

"Blue, yes, but as far removed as fire and ice," Edward retorted.

"I think his were warm once, too," said Bella gently. "Ice takes time to harden, and perhaps he's been too long in the cold."

Her words, however kindly meant, were lost on him, for the moment she spoke, she saw that stormcloud descend upon him again.

"I might be inclined to agree, had he not said the things he did," he ground out. Bella felt the tremble of anger just beneath the surface again. "Had he not…"

"Hush, now." Bella shook her head in the gloom. "Hush… it will do you no good."

Edward laughed, sarcastic and seething.

"I am not a forgiving man, Bella," he said finally, after a long, pregnant pause. "I do my best, as leader, but in my heart…"

"You are _good,"_ said Bella at once, pressing her fingers to his lips to stop the words. "You are _kind."_

"To some."

"To _all."_ She pressed her lips to his. "You are a good man, and a kind man, and a _fair_ man…"

"To _some."_

Bella shook her head.

"He is out of your sight," Bella replied, "and you _must_ put him out of your mind."

"He will want to take her, you know…"

"And he shall _not,"_ Bella replied at once. "He absolutely shall _not…"_

Edward said nothing, but let her stroke the tense muscles in his shoulders and his back until there was a knock on the door, and they pulled quietly apart.

"Gods above," exclaimed Emmett, stopping in the darkness at the threshold of the door. Warm torchlight spilled in from the hall, but stopped short of either Bella or Edward. "Are you in there, Ed?"

"Aye." The sound echoed, and Bella saw how Emmett squinted. "Aye, we're here. Bring a torch, would you?"

At once, Bella saw Emmett swivel around to face the doorway, where he spoke softly to a figure out of sight. In a moment, she saw him brandishing a flaming torch, bringing it into the throne room to light the sconces by the door, casting the room in a soft, flickering glow.

"Better," he said, looking curiously around. "Better… come in, Rose. Sit yourself just there."

And at once, Bella saw the familiar blonde head of her friend peeping cautiously around the corner, eying the darkness with particular distrust.

As Rose entered, her arms laden with her new baby, Bella reached out a hand in welcome. It had been some time since Rosalie had been in the palace, and never before had she been inside the throne room, and she saw Rose's bewildered smile as she took in the magnitude of it all. The stone dais, upon which rested ornate, shadowed thrones, the skylights above that let in naught but starlight. The portraits, hidden in darkness, that showed generations of royal families, and the great, vaulted ceilings, that almost touched the sky.

"Rose," said Bella, and her friend grinned. Bella saw that she was still slow, not yet a full day into new motherhood, and she directed her carefully to a bench along the side.

The men, huddled together in whispered conversation, were inaudible as Bella sat beside her, peeking at the small, wakeful baby in her blankets of white and green.

"I'm sorry to call you out," said Bella, ticking the baby's cheek. She cooed, and Rosalie beamed. "I know you should be resting…"

"The guard sounded serious," said Rose, glancing only briefly at Emmett. "He sounded… worried."

"He should not have," soothed Bella at once. "You are in no danger."

The baby, eyes wide and blue, peered up at the flickering flame of a torch, mesmerized.

"How are you?"

"Very well," said Rose. "Much better than I thought I'd be…"

"And Emmett?"

Blushing, Rose looked up at the man in question, who was listening with furious concern to the words of his King. Bella felt the fluttering of nerves again, but was careful not to show it.

"Very well indeed," said Rose. "He's been a great help."

"I would hope so," chuckled Bella, "seeing as he eats your food."

Rose giggled.

"We've got plenty," she said. "He's kept Finn occupied, and helped me with my chores."

"Good...:"

"Finn is in love," Rose continued. "I know he wanted a brother, but he seems pleased as punch with a sister all the same."

"All boys want a brother," chuckled Bella. The baby began to squirm. "But _he_ can't choose any more than you can."

"We've named her Leila," said Rose. "I wanted to call her Marigold, but her colouring is all wrong."

"Beautiful," said Bella gently. "A lovely name…"

"Old legends say it means _night_ ," Rose continued. "Like her hair."

Dried and washed, Bella could see that still, the child's tresses were as black as ink.

"I've one of each, now," Rose laughed. "One fair boy, and one dark girl. Both healthy, and lovely…"

Rose brought her baby to her face, and Bella watched with misty eyes as she kissed the tip of her round, pink nose.

"Rose."

At once, both she and Rosalie turned to face the men. Emmett, all humour and lightheartedness gone, watched the three of them with dark, careful eyes. Edward said nothing, his gaze flickering from Bella to the baby, and when Rose stood, suddenly anxious, she thought she caught a brief flash of worry.

"Do not stress yourself," said Edward at once, shooting Emmett a warning glance. "You sit, now, and listen to what Emmett has to say."

Rose, though her knees shook, did not obey her King. Instead, she passed the baby off to Bella, tucking the green, knitted blanket around her as she did, and stepped towards Emmett with a purpose. Bella saw Emmett lean down to speak to her, his voice soft in the quiet, and when she saw Rosalie's startled face go white, she turned her attention instead to the baby. Leila stared, her eyes as wide as saucers, and she wrapped her little hand around Bella's finger with a tight, strong grip.

Edward, peering over her shoulder at the newborn, did not smile at the cherubic creature. The baby waved a clumsy arm, her fingers brushing Bella's chin, but Edward merely watched her, bringing one finger to touch the crown of her head.

"She is very small," he whispered, pulling his hand away. The baby didn't notice. "She's very… light."

"She's hefty enough," Bella grinned. "She's healthy."

"I don't remember Jasper being so little."

"They always seem smaller when you're small too," returned Bella. "Do you want to hold her?"

"I dare not," Edward replied, though he rested his chin on Bella's shoulder. The baby blinked up, her rosebud lips parting in a yawn, and Bella tucked the blanket more securely around her.

When Rosalie returned, white-faced and shocked, she did not reach out to take the child back.

"My brother," she said blankly, looking between Bella and Edward in astonishment. "Of all the things I'd thought on my way here, that was barely even a consideration."

"Yes," sighed Edward. "Your brother. Come with demands."

Rose bristled.

"I'll not go back," she said at once, and this time she did reach for the baby. Bella settled her carefully, watching the droopy eyelids flutter closed. "I'll not take my _children_ back…"

"No one is asking you to," said Emmett at once, sober and serious. "But he must be given an answer."

"The answer is no!" Rose replied, wheeling around. "Absolutely, positively _no!"_

"And so we shall tell him," soothed Bella. "So he shall hear."

"Where is he?"

"Locked in a chamber," said Edward. "A _guarded_ chamber."

"Not in a cell?" she asked, astonished. "You do know who he is? Do you know who he _serves?"_

"I suspect, which is enough," sighed Edward. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Two," Rosalie said at once. "Although only one would be bold enough to seek me here…"

"This one _is_ bold," said Edward with a grimace. "He would not tell us his name."

"Antonio," said Rose at once. "Toni."

Edward said nothing.

"Shall I fetch him?" he asked. "Shall I send the guard?"

Rosalie, seating herself back on the plush bench, swallowed hard.

"I'll not let him touch me," she warned. "He has no right to…"

"He'll not lay a finger on you, or the child," Edward promised. "Though I'm not sure he knows she's been born."

"I'm not sure he knows she _exists,"_ Rose returned. "I certainly never told him."

No one said anything for a long, quiet moment. Edward nodded at the guard by the door and Bella watched him shuffle off, his boots noisy in the dark, warm hallway. Only Bella noticed that Rosalie was trembling, her tremors hidden by the rocking arms that held the baby.

"He will want Finn," said Rose in a whisper, and Bella finally heard the cracking fear in her voice. "He will want to take him back, even if we stay…"

" _We?"_ Edward's voice was sharp.

"Me and Leila," Rose said. "Rojce has no use for a daughter, and hardly any use for me. I can be replaced. Finn, however, is necessary."

"Where is he?"

"Still with the neighbour," Rosalie replied. The baby, squirming, began to fuss. "She's a good woman…"

"Easterners are generous," said Edward placatingly. "They always have been… one woman's child is a child to many."

"He'll want him," Rose repeated. "He'll want my boy…"

"Indeed, Rosalie."

The shock of that voice, so sharp in the dim torchlight, made all four of them start and Bella, wheeling around, caught the glimmer of a wily smile on that thin, handsome face before it was buried. He eyed them each in turn— first Edward, then Bella, and finally, his sister with the baby in her arms, and Emmett, who he sized up with brave indifference.

Bella had never seen Rosalie tremble but she trembled now, her arms tightening reflexively around the small, squalling bundle.

"Another whelp?" spoke the man, his eyebrow raised as the cries rose higher. "Tell me, Rosie… niece or nephew?"

Rosalie said nothing.

"Green…" said the man, eying the blanket. "I'll guess niece. Rojce will be _overjoyed,_ when he hears the news." His words were sarcastic and cruel.

"He won't _touch_ her."

Rose's voice was waspish, stinging like venom in the dark, and as if steeled by some invisible strength, she rose angrily to her feet.

"He'll not touch _any_ of us again."

"I've come to take you home," said the man mildly. "Such is my right, as your kin."

"I have no kin but my own children," spat Rose. "You forfeited that right when you sold me like chattel to that _brute."_

"That _brute,"_ said the man, taking another step forward, "is your lawful husband. You _owe_ him your allegiance."

"I owe him _nothing."_

"Running like a coward, Rosie?" The man folded his arms, eying his sister askance. "That was never your style…"

"It takes more courage to run than to submit to brutality," said Emmett suddenly, and the man's angry eyes snapped up at once. There was no tenderness in the man's face— no gentle words or brotherly sympathy for the woman he called sister— and what mild civility he had for her died when he glared at Emmett, hot and accusatory.

"I'll take no cheek from _you,"_ said the man at once. "You are _nothing_ to me… nothing but my sister's bitch and I assure you— she's had many higher and nobler than _you."_

"You shut your mouth," growled Rose, and once again, Bella felt the weight of the baby in her arms. She retreated behind the guards, rocking and shushing the squalling babe, as Rosalie advanced on her brother like a viper.

The man, Antonio, only grinned, a flash of white teeth taunting in the dark.

"You're to come home, and you're to bring my nephew," said the man, at his ease. "Rojce has no care for a daughter. You may take her or leave her, as you will…"

"I'll go nowhere."

"You are _summoned."_

"And summoned I shall remain," Rose spat. "I'll _not_ bring myself, or my children, back into Rojce's den."

"You have no grounds to refuse," said her brother mildly. "Rojce is your husband, and I am your brother…"

"And where is Pietro, might I ask?" Rosalie glanced around the throne room. "If everyone is so _eager_ to have me back, where is our brother?"

For the first time all evening, Bella saw the man's composure flicker.

"It is no concern of mine where that cretin hides," he growled. "He is a coward, as you well know…"

"The only coward I see here is _you,_ Toni," returned Rose. "Running like a dog to do your master's bidding. Tell me… did Rojce _pay_ you to come here, or will he simply reward you with his whore once he's finished with her?"

The slap, sudden and sharp, rang through the air like a gunshot. The baby cried, her wails echoing off of the ceiling and Rosalie recoiled, bringing a startled hand to her cheek.

At once, the man was subdued. Guards, emerging from doors and entrances, descended on him like an army. He fell to the ground. His arms, wrenched painfully behind his back, were bound with ropes. Emmett hollered orders, his face almost puce, and Edward, bone white with seething anger, held his jaw so tight it looked as if his teeth might crack.

Rosalie did not cry— indeed, she did not even call out— but she brought a cool hand to her face, pressing it gently over the reddening flesh where the hand had connected.

"Just the same as always, Toni," she said, shaking her head. Bella, bouncing the crying baby almost frantically, felt her legs begin to tremble. "Just the same as always."

"You always were a stubborn bitch."

"Enough." Edward's voice was sharp and cold. "That is _enough._ You have shown your incivility, and you will be permitted in my halls no longer."

"Am I to be imprisoned?" guessed the man, glancing briefly towards the western window. "I am to be… locked up?"

"You are to be exiled," said Edward and even Emmett, who looked as if he would strike the man in return, wheeled around in shock. "You will leave my Kingdom, and leave your sister with it, and never again darken my fields or my halls with your presence or your violence."

The man blinked, surprised.

"You're going to send me back?" he asked, and Bella heard the sudden note of fear. "You're going to… return me?"

"My soldiers will drop you at the passage," said Edward coldly. "Where you go and what you do is no business of mine, so long as it takes you beyond the mountains."

"He will kill me," said the man. "Rojce. If I return without his wife and son, he will kill me…"

Edward, stoic and unmoved, stood firm.

"I'll not sacrifice a woman or her children to spare the likes of _you."_ Bella saw Rosalie's small, victorious smile. "I'll not sacrifice _any_ citizen of mine to assuage—"

"She is _not_ a citizen," spat the man. "Perhaps the _child…_ "

He eyed the baby speculatively.

"She is as I say she is," returned Edward. "As you reminded me earlier, _I_ am the King of this realm, and you are not."

The man bared his teeth.

"Those children belong to…"

"Their mother," said Edward at once. "And her alone."

"And what of a father's rights?" demanded the man. "What of a man's right to the children he's created?"

"That right is forfeit!" shouted Edward, his eyes flashing dangerously. "When a child bears the marks of violence, borne to him by that so-called _father,_ he no longer any right to claim that child as kin!"

"He is the _heir!"_ shouted the man, straining against the soldier who held him. "That boy, feeble and pathetic as he is, is the heir to the whole western stronghold!"

"I know it," Edward growled, his face mere inches from the man's. "I know it, and I know it well."

"Then you know what this will mean," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "You know what _he_ will do."

"May the Gods help us," Edward said. "May the Gods help us, but yes, I do."

There was a long pause, heavy with words unsaid, before the man spoke again.

"Then upon your own head, be it," he snapped. "On your _own_ head. I thank the Gods above for this fate I face, for I'd rather be dead in the ground than be party to the devastation Rojce will bring upon you when he hears what you have done."

"I do nothing but what is _right,"_ hissed Edward. "I do nothing that any _decent_ man would not…"

" _Decency,"_ spat the man, stumbling after the soldiers who pulled him. "That will be your downfall _King._ Decency serves only those who heed it, and I assure you… the enemy you've just made is anything but _decent."_

The man was hauled away and Bella, trembling with nerves and victory, swallowed hard as the soldiers left the room. Rosalie, mouth agape, let out a shaking, trembling breath as she sunk back onto the bench, Emmett knelt before her in quiet concern. The baby was still wailing, her cries hearty and high, and Edward, staring at the empty door where the man had disappeared, let his shoulders slump. The white anger turned to ashen exhaustion, and when he turned to her, she met his gaze with a fierce and vibrant pride.

"When they write the histories in years to come," said Edward, his lips at her ear, "I am afraid of what they will say about this night."

Emmett took the child— Bella, tired and sore, passed her on with ease— and she wrapped her arms around Edward so tightly that she heard his huff of breath at her throat.

"They will say you did well," she said, staring over his shoulder at the frightened, pale mother. "They will say that you did _right."_

And in the darkness, with that budding little family before them, Bella saw the resolve like steel settle into his soul even as the exile's shouts of protest echoed in the yard.

 **A/N: Thanks for all your love!**


	40. Chapter 40

**Warnings: Violence, and a possible tissue warning?**

 **Chapter 40**

 _Northern Grasslands - Early Spring_

Shasta sat on the banks of the Sunon River, her face screwed up in a scowl. The air was warm around her— the springtime sun lingered longer than it did in winter, and though the island was never truly _cold,_ she could feel the beginnings of summer on the back of her bent neck. Her feet dangled in the current, the water black as pitch beneath the shadow of the Northern Watchtower, and the flow had slowed to a gentle trickle. A few miles east, Shasta thought, and she'd be in the rapids. She did not like this cold calm— she wanted to see the river rage with churning white froth and a dangerous, perilous pull. It would be fitting, she thought, for such a mood as this.

Shasta felt the cold on her feet like fire— it bit and burned as she dipped them further down in the running water. She held her skirt up around her waist and dangled her legs down as far as she could reach without falling in, holding resolutely still for as long as she could bear. Even when she felt the protesting prickles and pins in her very bones, she did not relent. After a long minute— Shasta counted the torturous seconds in her head— her toes wiggled in protest. She was angry with herself, then— angry at her own lack of gall— and with a great, heavy sigh she drew herself back again to the bank where the dry heat of the afternoon sun had warmed the shallow edges of the river to more tolerable temperatures. Her black mood did not subside in the bubbling, merry warmth, and when a silver-blue cichlid came close enough to brush her ankle she lashed out in a fury of temper. Her foot sent the fish darting, its long, sleek body disappearing downstream, and Shasta watched it go with mutinous displeasure.

With nothing left to kick, Shasta flopped back on the warm ground, her gaze fixed on a long, passing cloud in the quickly darkening twilight. Her brain was muddled with the events of the day, disjointed and choppy as if they'd been put to the scythe, and only when she closed her eyes, breathing in the deep, sweet smell of fresh spring grass, did she begin to feel some peace. The world was quiet here— a fact for which she was grateful, for the noise of her own thoughts was loud enough on its own.

As her heart calmed and her angry cheeks faded to palest pink, Shasta swallowed back a lump in her throat, glancing shame-faced towards the trees where her mother's hearthfire blazed. The house was only a blur on the edge of the jungle— a small, white smudge haloed in grey chimney smoke— but even from this great distance Shasta could make out the old, dirt lane, the leaning fence posts, and the water trough where her father's pony spent its nights. The thought of her mother made Shasta scowl, and she turned her back on the house with an angry huff.

" _Tidy the yard, Shasta, and be quick about it!"_ was what her mother had shouted that afternoon while Shasta hunted stones. She had dug a hole in the side yard, deep enough to pull up some small, uncracked geodes, and she had just lined them up in a neat, tidy row when her mother's voice had interrupted. Shasta had eyed her with quiet resentment, following the irritated gaze to the front yard where her sister's tools and toys were scattered haphazardly across the trodden earth. Her sister was always making messes— she was the untidiest creature ever known to walk the earth— and as always, it was _Shasta_ who had the task of tidying up. Shara was one year younger— a mere nine to Shasta's ten— and Mother never let them forget it.

" _I didn't make any mess."_

" _Did you hear what I said?"_ Mother's voice had gone dangerously shrill. _"Did you hear me, child? Do as you're bid!"_

" _I didn't make that mess,"_ Shasta had repeated stubbornly. _"I was in the field."_

" _Shasta!"_ Her mother, big with her fourth baby, had glared so ferociously at her eldest daughter that Shasta, always quick to anger, had flared up at once.

" _Tell Shara!"_ she'd shouted. _"Tell Shara to clean it up! She was the one with all those blocks!"_

Mother, scowling, had rounded on her daughter at once.

" _You will do as you're bid, or may the Gods help you,"_ she'd snarled. _"I didn't raise you to be disobedient! Take yourself out to that yard at once and do as you're told!"_

The sight of Shara, grinning devilishly from a shadowy corner of the kitchen, had sent Shasta into a temper and at once, she'd reached out to swipe at her sister. Their mother, while heavy and slow, had a quick arm and she caught Shasta's hand just in time for Shara to flee to the other end of the room.

" _Get!"_ snapped Mother, her grip hard and tight. Shasta pulled against the hold, making her mother teeter. _"You get outside this instant!"_

Mother, irritated, had pushed her sharply towards the door but Shasta held firm. Her bare feet were planted so strongly on the cold, dirt floor that it was Mother who stumbled forward, catching herself on the edge of the table just in time to avoid a tumble. Shasta saw the flash of anger before she felt it— a stinging slap on the back of her bare legs that made her yelp. Shasta had been slapped many times for her willful defiance, but it was rare for Mother's hands to bear down on her so sharply.

She felt the angry skin on her legs begin to throb, and when she felt mother's hand between her shoulders again, pushing her angrily towards the door, Shasta's eyes brimmed up with tears that made Shara cackle. It was that laughter, so taunting and victorious, that made her bubbling temper boil over.

Shara was a frequent target of Shasta's rage, and despite her mother's warning shout she threw herself blindly towards the door where her sister lurked, reaching out her long fingernails to strike at that smug, pretty face…

Her mother snatched the back of her dress before the blow could land and Shasta fell back, her hands scraping against a rough stone in the floor. She barely felt the sting, her anger was so hot, and though Mother stood between both of her daughters to stop a brawl, there was little she could do to stop the words.

" _Brat!"_ Shasta had shrieked. _"Beast! You lazy, hateful_ slut!"

Shasta did not know what the word meant— nor, in fact, did Shara— but their mother certainly did. She had learned it in a pub— her father had taken her to market during the last grain haul and they had camped overnight against the wall of a rather bawdy tavern. One of the men had used it during an argument and it had sounded so delightfully insulting that Shasta had filed it away for just such a time as this. She had a store of such words, pilfered from tavern brawls, all of which she knew would insult her sister and make her mother nearly apoplectic with rage.

There had been a pause— a long, shocked silence in which Shara only frowned and Mother balked with an open mouth— before that silence was cracked by a shrill, ear-splitting shriek.

" _What did you say!?"_ Mother had cried. Shara, grinning gleefully from her spot behind the door at this newest outrage, laughed out loud when their mother caught Shasta's arm. She felt her mother's long fingernails digging into her skin. _"What did you just say!?"_

" _Lazy!"_ Shasta had bellowed in her mother's face. _"Lazy, stupid_ slut!"

Mother had slapped her again, this time on the cheek. Shasta, so angry she could spit, had wrenched her arm away and ran, full tilt, at the great wooden door, behind which her sister still stood. She knew what she would do only moments before she did it, but when her hands reached out to slam the door into that smug, laughing face, she saw her sister's quick and sudden terror.

The resounding _crack_ when wood met flesh had been loud enough for even Shem to hear from where he stood in the yard, gathering Shara's blocks and tools that had been the cause of all the ruckus in the first place. He watched Shasta with long-suffering pity as she bolted from the house, his gaze flickering only briefly towards Mother, who stood motionless with shock and rage in the small, dark kitchen.

Shara's screams and her mother's angry curses had followed Shasta all the way to the edge of the yard, beyond which lay the great, open fields. She ran until her legs burned, and then she inched her way down to the riverbed, where she'd vented her feelings by hurling great, heavy stones into the placid, gentle current.

That had been in the afternoon, long before Father was in from the fields. He'd been in the barley fields today— the furthest pasture from their small, humble farmhouse— but Shasta knew that he'd be back now that the sun was dipping low behind the mountains. They'd be eating, she thought, or perhaps sitting by the fire with the flute. Mother would tell Father all about their day and about Shasta's disobedience, and perhaps, this time, Papa would be angry. Shasta had never seen him rage— indeed, not even when she had locked her sister in the clothes trunk— but she wondered if this would be the final straw.

The very thought made her heart sink to her feet.

Papa and Shasta were like two peas in a pod, Mother always said. Father was a quiet man— tall and strong, with a wiry beard that matched Shasta's own shocking mop of fiery red hair. Shem and Shara were handsome and dark, their black hair straight as a pin, just like Mother's. Shasta was small and pale and skinny as a rat, with skin like milk and such a peppering of freckles that Shara sometimes tried to connect them with black fireplace soot. Her hair matched her temper— her one inheritance from her taciturn mother— and though Shasta did not possess even the slightest hint of introspection needed to regret her tantrums and her fits, she did feel a sudden, gnawing guilt at the thought of having disappointed her Papa.

Papa loved Shasta— he told her so often— and though he'd never say it to her face, she knew in her heart that she was his favourite.

" _You're a good girl, Shas,"_ he'd say to her. _"My good, strong girl…"_

With him, walking hand-in-hand in the fields, Shasta did not feel so awkward or out of place. She was not pretty— not like her mother and her sister— but beside her father, whose nose and chin were as sharp as hers and whose hair was as wild and vibrant, she felt, for just a little while, like she _belonged._

Shasta buried her face in her skirt, her eyes burning with the threat of tears as she imagined his disappointment.

Father, unlike Shasta, was a _good_ man. He was a _kind_ man. He loved Shasta, and told her freely, but he loved Shara too, and Shem. On his last run to the King's city, he'd brought Shasta back a delightful white stone made from marble discarded from the old castle floor. It was worth a ransom, their father said, and he could have sold it at market for a pretty penny, but instead he'd brought it home to _her,_ his Purveyor of Fine Things. He had suffered Mother's wrath because of it, fending off her spitting anger at the thought of a month's worth of butter and eggs wasted on a child's fancy.

That rock was her pride and joy— it took the place of honour on the sill of her small window— but so, too, did Shara's doll, which Father had paid a toymaker to carve, and Shem's new dagger, which Father had promised to teach him how to use. Shasta might not love her sister, but her father certainly did, and she knew with a sinking in her belly that his disappointment would be as humiliating as anything her sister could have done in recompense.

With a heavy heart, Shasta turned to glance back towards the homestead, where the grey blur of smoke would be vanishing into the high, dark sky. The stars were out now, twinkling in their heavenly seats, and the moon was small, but bright. She could no longer see the mountains— only the tall, overbearing silhouettes of the great, stone monuments— and though the path had all but disappeared beneath her very feet, she knew the road well enough to find her way back.

But when she turned, she felt the thrumming of her heart beneath her ribs and she blinked, astonished, at the vision near the trees.

Gone was the happy, grey smudge to mark the passing of the evening meal. Gone was the pony, tethered to its nighttime post. Gone was the trough, filled with water and scraps, and gone was the fence to keep the wildcats in their dens. Gone were the wagons, and gone were the crops, and in their place, blazing like hellfire, was a great, billowing inferno to take the place where her home should have been.

Shasta ran as quickly as her legs would carry her, flying like the wind through the tall grass and shrubs. Branches whipped her legs and she felt a trickle of blood down her ankle. Her bare feet, stinging from the punishing poke of stones beneath her toes, began to ache and smart. The field was alight with the glow of the fire— Shasta did not know how she hadn't noticed it before— and the closer she got to the scorching hot flames, the more she became aware of the terrible screams.

She reached the edge of the yard, where the pony's trough was burning, and she squinted to the flaming doorway, beyond which she could see nothing. The windows were blank, like eyes without their soul, and try though she might to see the horrors inside, she could make out nothing but the white glow of fire.

"Mother!" Shasta shouted, her voice almost lost in the roar. She inched nearer to the cabin, but reared back when she felt the stinging heat on her feet. "Mother!"

All around her, the homestead burned.

"Father!" she cried, and she felt the strangling smoke at the back of her throat. Her eyes began to water. "Father! Mother! Shem!"

There was no answer.

"Shara!"

With a great crack, Shasta saw the central beam of the roof give way, and at once, the house began to creak. She fell back in startled fear, her bright, blue gaze fixed on the trembling edifice, and though she scrambled back on her hands and knees, it was all she could do to escape the circle of smoke and embers. A piece of the thatched roof fell in, sending a pillar of noxious, black smoke spiralling to the sky.

"Mother…" Shasta's voice cracked, and she ran a sooty hand over her dampened cheeks. "Mother!"

What happened next was done so quickly that Shasta, white and still with shock, barely had time to scream.

"Grab her!" came a strange voice and Shasta, scrambling back another foot, felt the grip of hot, calloused hands on her bare arms. She screamed in sudden terror, her feet kicking as the hands hauled her up, and when she felt the blow on the side of her face, harder than any her mother had ever dealt, her head snapped to the side with an audible crack.

Dazed and confused, with a face already starting to swell, Shasta blinked away the spots of white across her vision as the stranger hauled her back, tossing her bodily to the ground with an unceremonious thud. Her head bounced off of the hard stone, making her ears ring as a gash opened up on her scalp, and she saw the swimming face of a stranger before her, leering down with a snarling lip. He bore down on her like a wildcat, his scraggly, yellow hair hanging over his eyes, and when he reached down to her dress, his fist closing around her collar to choke her, Shasta heard another scream that was not her own, terrible and hoarse in the din. The noise shocked the man and he dropped her, letting her fall back to the ground.

" _No!"_

"Get back, you bitch!" barked another voice and Shasta, head wheeling round to her right, saw with mingled horror and relief the figure of her mother, prone on the ground. She was not the same woman Shasta had left that afternoon— gone was the bitter annoyance and the short-tempered, unwholesome anger. This woman was afraid— Shasta could see it plainly on her face— and when she reached out a bruised and bloodied hand to pull her daughter close, Shasta scrambled to her at once, ignoring the throbbing pain behind her ear. Her mother looked ragged— her dress was torn from hem to waist, her legs bare and bloodied in the firelight, and her lip was split, as if she'd been struck. Shasta could not see her brother or sister— there were no other figures in the dirt to mark their presence— and she crawled so quickly into her mother's arms that not even her captor had time to stop her.

"No," repeated Mother, her voice trembling and weak. Her rough hands ran over Shasta's head, her back. "No, no, no…"

Shasta clung like a babe, her face pressed to the rapid pulsepoint at her mother's throat. At once, the strangers pounced.

"Mother!" wailed Shasta, feeling the grip of the strange man at her waist. Her mother, with her swollen belly in the way, flung out a hand to grab the hem of Shasta's dress, and then her foot. Shasta felt the gripping hand shake— her mother _never_ trembled— and it was the feel of that weakened, terrified grip that scared her more than anything else.

When the man hauled her up, her feet leaving the ground altogether, she felt fear break in her like a wild horse and she screamed into the night, her voice drowning out the sound of her mother's sobs. Mother's hand scrabbled in the dirt, reaching up with desperate urgency to take her back, but the man hauled her so high up that Mother, stuck in her spot on the ground, could not reach.

"Mama! _Mama! MAMA!"_

"Shut her up!" bellowed a voice from the edge of the yard. Nearly blind with panic, Shasta could only writhe. "Shut that little bitch up!"

There was another blow to her cheek, and then another still when the first did not silence her. Her mother screamed too— Shasta saw the shape of a boot bearing down on her— and through her tears she saw her mother's arms around her belly, guarding that precious life inside. Her attempts, however, were in vain, and Shasta watched with horror as the boot found its mark. At once, she heard her mother's renewed cries as she curled in on herself. A shadow of blood began to spread between her legs, pooling like molten rubies in the blinding glow, and Shasta began to scream again, her heart hammering in her chest. Mother's face turned ghastly white, her hands grabbing desperately at the great orb of her belly, and Shasta felt the pain of it in her own self. The man kicked her mother again, and then a third time, before her cries died out altogether, and she clawed at her middle with clumsy hands.

Shasta's tears made her captor snarl.

"Whinging little whelp," he growled, and when he brought a large, filthy hand to clamp over her mouth, Shasta sunk her teeth deep into his palm. The man cried out, nearly dropping her in surprise, but redoubled his grip when she tried to squirm free.

"Let me go!" she wailed, as her mother began to writhe. "Let me _go!"_

"Shut the hell up!" hollered the man. His hand clamped down on her mouth again, so hard this time that there was no further hope of biting. "You shut your little mouth before I knock out all your teeth!"

Shasta only cried, thrashing angrily in her captor's arms, as the other man stood over her mother with a sneer.

"Not long now, doll!" he chuckled, and Shasta heard a ghostly chorus of laughter from the shadows at her back. "Not long now…"

"My baby…"

"Is dead," said the man coldly. "Burning with all your others."

Mother did not look at Shasta as her face crumpled like wet parchment, and she felt a flicker of horrified grief as her mother's gaze met the billowing flames.

Shasta, squirming like an eel, felt the bottom drop out of her belly.

 _Burning…_ the very thought made her stomach roll. _Burning like all the others. The others… Shem and Shara. Shem and Shara, burning…_

When her stomach turned the man recoiled in horror, leaping back from the flood of sick that splattered his boots. Shasta, shaking, squirmed away into the circle of darkness, just far enough for the man at her mother's feet to wheel around, enraged.

"Grab her!" he barked, and at once, Shasta saw three other figures manifest in the smoke. She began to back away. "Find that little brat!"

And at once, with a renewed strength she had not known she possessed, Shasta began to sprint through the tall grass, weaving erratically through the wheat and the rye.

She ran like the wind, but the men ran faster. She could hear their thunderous footsteps, pounding behind her like horses at a sprint, and no matter how she weaved and bobbed through the tallest plants and ditches, she could see the faint outlines of waving grass where four bodies, tall and strong, chased her through the night. Her breath came in sharp, painful pants. She could feel her heartbeat in her cheek and scalp, where she'd been dealt her newest injuries. Her feet were numb with cold— the ground, sodden with rainwater from yesterday's deluge, had gone boggy and chilly in the rapidly cooling nighttime air. She could see no lights— there were no nearby villages or homesteads to which she might run, and though she could hear the sound of river at her back, she did not dare glance back to see how far she had come.

For Shasta knew, with the certainty of a prophet, that if those men caught her, she'd burn too.

She ran blindly through the fields, not knowing which way was up, until she found herself once again near the halo of firelight from the cabin, her legs shaking and her face slick with tears. She could see the edge of the fence where her mother lay, unmoving and silent in the quiet night, and she could no longer see the four pursuers…

The hand on her mouth was stronger this time, and with a muffled scream of terror Shasta felt herself hauled backwards into the wheat, her head resting against a cold, shaking shoulder. The arms did not release her when she kicked, and when she threw her head back with merciless force to crack the nose of her assailant, she heard his soft grunt of pain.

"Hush!" the voice hissed and at once, Shasta stilled. On the collar of her pale dress, blood dripped down from the man's face. "Hush, my darling… it's only me."

At once Shasta wheeled, her terrified eyes landing on the familiar face of her Papa. His face was gaunt with pain— Shasta could see the knife wound cut deep into his belly— but his grip was still firm, and his eyes still bright.

He kissed her, warm, urgent lips pressed to the crown of her head and her cheeks, before she felt him pull her to his heart and weep, his whole body shaking.

"Oh, Shasta…" His hands petted her hair, coming away wet with her blood. "Oh, my girl…"

"Mama…" Shasta's voice was thin and weak. "Mama… and Shem. Shara…"

"I know, my darling," her father said. "I know…"

"Who _are_ they?"

Her father did not reply.

"We must go, sweetheart," he said. "We must go now, before they find us…"

"Go where?" Shasta clung to him with all her strength. Together, they tried to stand, but before they could make it halfway up, Papa's legs trembled like jelly. He fell to the ground with a grunt. "Go where, Papa?"

Ahead, just feet from where the fence should be, they heard the holler of angry voices and a high, thin scream from the place where her mother lay. The sound made Papa flinch, and Shasta felt a tear drip down to her collar.

"We must go," he said again. Another scream, louder and more urgent. "We must go…"

"Go where?"

"Burn it all!" bellowed a voice, and Shasta saw Papa's face fall. "Burn the every field to the ground, and find me that whelp!"

Shasta clung harder to her father.

"Papa…"

The crashing footsteps through the grass made Shasta start with fear and at once, she saw her father's face harden. He got to his knees, then, his fist clamped tight around his old, rusted sword, and Shasta felt his firm hand on her arm, thrusting her behind him.

"You'll run," he told her, and at once, she felt her composure break. "You'll run, Shasta. Promise me…"

"Come with me."

"You'll _run,"_ he said again, wheeling around to face her. She saw a strange fury in his eyes that made her balk, but still, she did not agree. "You'll run, my girl, and promise me you won't stop!"

"Come with me," Shasta begged again, her arms wrapping tight around her father's waist. Beneath her cheek, she felt the oozing blood of his cut. "Come with me, _please…"_

 _Don't make me go alone,_ she thought. _Don't leave me here alone, with those men at my back…_

Papa kissed her again, his lips rough against her cheek, before he shoved her back away from him, his face upturned towards the fire. In the glow, Shasta could see the bobbing heads of the strangers, each with a sword or spear poised to strike.

She began to cry.

"Go, Shasta," her father said. "Go now, and get yourself away."

"Where?" she asked. "Where, Father? Where should I go?"

Her father, face ashen and clammy, glanced back towards the river.

"You run, now," he said again. "Run to the north, and don't stop until you find them."

"Find who?" Her voice cracked and her father's composure wavered. "Find _who_ , Papa?"

A crack to their left echoed and at once, his face went cold.

"Run," he said again, and Shasta, frozen, shook her head. _"Run!"_

"No…"

"Go!" shouted Father, and at once Shasta saw the searching figures stop. "Go, Shasta!"

"Come with me!"

"Go!"

"Come…"

"I—"

His voice was cut short with a grunt and Shasta, biting back a scream, knew at once what had happened. Her knees fell out from under her, her eyes as wide as saucers as she watched the tip of a bloody, vicious spear emerging from her father's side. He looked down at it in mild surprise, as if he could not quite believe that it was there, but when he looked back up and saw her staring, he gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.

"Run," he said, his voice a mere rasp. Shasta backed away. "Go… run!"

When the spear was pulled away it was a corpse that fell to the ground, its sightless eyes fixed on the sky where his killer stood tall, leering down at the terrified girl in the grass.

"Found you," he grinned, bearing down on her with glee. "Found you, little girl…"

Wheeling around on her bare heels Shasta bolted, tearing into the utter blackness like a spectre in the night.

* * *

 _The North is burning._

 _The North is burning._

 _The North is burning._

In the quiet of the market, where the people stood stunned, a whisper rolled through the crowd like quicksilver. No one knew where it had started— one had heard it from a friend, who had heard it from a foe, but the words were all the same:

 _The North is burning._

The baker heard it and his heart went still. His grain came from the north, and his flour too, and his sister, newly married, lived in a farmhouse near the trees. His own sister, whose husband had promised her safety, who had begged him to leave the bustle of the capital for a quiet country life, who had never given a thought to the rugged and angry West. A sister, who might now be dead, if the rumours were true, and if she were not, whose fledgling life had been torn to tatters in an instant. The baker left his stall and began to saddle his horse.

The butcher's wife went numb, her face a mask of shock. Her husband was a brute— a terrible tyrant who served as nothing more than the father of her children, the oldest of whom had fled the city just as soon as he was able. Her son lived by the river, in a little shanty shack overshadowed by the formidable Northern Watchtower that overlooked the coast. Her son, who hunted beasts. Her son, who wanted _peace._ Her own, darling boy, who had promised her daughter that he would steal her away, that he would save her from the bruises their father left when he was drunk. Her daughter who now, her face glazed with tears, bolted like a filly through the bustling, murmuring crowd, and disappeared forever beyond the high, city walls.

The jeweler closed his stall. The fletcher, slack with shock, watched as the news sent a woman into hysterics. The smith, with his forges still lit, let out an angry cry of protest and tossed three newly-minted swords into the street, where they were picked up by whooping, wild boys. The crowd began to move. The crowd began to _shout._

"The north!" they wailed, craning necks to see invisible smoke beyond the walls. "The north!"

"My sister!"

"Mother!"

"My son… my only son!"

"Damn the West!"

"Damn them _all!"_

"Damn them straight to hell, where they belong!"

The noise rose in a crescendo, so loud that even the approaching horses were not heard until the very last, when the crowd was parted by an angry shout.

"Stand aside!" bellowed a strong, booming voice. "Stand aside at once!"

A child, perched on a fencepost to keep away from the stamping, rushing feet of the market crowd, lifted his head to gaze up at the passing parade. A dozen warhorses, sleek and glossy, bearing twelve armed soldiers. Red and gold adorned saddles and bridles, and painted shields bore the sigil of a sun— the King's sign. Twelve men at arms, all buckled in bronze armour, and one man in particular, near the centre, atop the only ebony horse in a sea of brown.

The child saw the crown on the strange man's helmet, and at once, he let out a shout.

"The King!" bellowed the boy, and heads turned to look. The smith, teeth bared, wheeled around in surprise. He reached back and snatched one of his discarded swords from a small, dirty fist. The fletcher whooped, tossing a quiver of arrows at the bowman near the back of the train, and the man caught them with a grateful nod of his head. The other two boys— ones who still clung to the smith's swords that were too broad and heavy for them— chased after the train of horses, stopped only when another reached out both hands and took them by their scruffs, cuffing each to make them drop their weapons in the dirt. Those new swords disappeared underfoot, clattering against rocks and stones, though the smithy seemed not to notice.

"The King!" called another voice— a man's this time. This voice carried, and the crowd began to bristle.

"Your Grace!"

"My King!"

"The North!"

"The _West!"_

"Burn the bastards!" hollered a woman, so far out of sight that the boy could not make her out. "Burn the bastards to the ground!"

The child saw the lead soldier snarl, and at once the crowd moved closer.

"Get away!" he spat. "Get away and let your king through!"

"Kill the traitors!" came the holler of another. The King's head twitched to look. "Hang them!"

"Traitors!"

"Bastards!"

" _Murderers!"_

"Enough!" roared the leader, and the child saw the face of the city commander when the helmet was lifted. "Enough, and move aside!"

The child only knew the commander by sight— all the people in the city did— and that once-jovial face had gone so stormy and dark that the child felt a stirring of fear. The adults seemed to see it too. Several women scampered back, all but one who stood her ground with such a tempestuous scowl that even her husband, surly and red-faced, reached out to pull her back.

The woman in the path, broad and strong, shrugged her husband away and moved just in time to avoid the hooves of the great, chestnut horse. When her husband caught her, spitting angrily, the commander ploughed on without a word.

The boy saw the King falter, offering the offended man a coin.

The boy watched for as long as he could as the King picked his way through the angry, terrified crowd. He watched them go until they reached the gate— a long, tiresome ride down the winding city street— and when the gates clanged shut behind them, bells tolling from the castle keep, it was all he could do to stay seated on his post while the crowd writhed around him.

Noise echoed in a chaotic rage. Voices rose and fell in the din. Swears were shouted, bodies were shoved, and the longer the child clung, the closer he came to falling, where he would be crushed underfoot like an ant.

The people were angry. The people were _frightened._ The people shouted, and clamoured, and shoved, but no matter what they did, or how loudly they cried out, there was one fact that remained as immovable as stone:

The north was burning.

* * *

It was Edward, riding hard and fast ahead of his Kingsguard, that found the scene first. He came upon it with a startling swiftness, and Magnus faltered when his hooves slipped in the wet, sodden mud. Edward dismounted from his horse, feeling the spongy soot beneath his boots, and let out a long, deep breath, feeling a sinking in his heart.

A day's rain had dampened much of the fire's fury, but the devastation it left behind was insurmountable. Edward stared, dumbstruck, at the absolute ruin before him, still smoking in the late afternoon drizzle.

"By the Gods," he heard Emmett mutter, bringing his horse to heel at Edward's back. Edward said nothing. "By the Gods, Edward…"

The land before them had been laid to waste, the once vibrant scenery scorched to a rancid, simmering black. Edward could see where the fire had raged, its angry, red path carved through green earth, eating away the crops, trees, and houses that had once called this land home. The air smelled like smoke, with an underlying, sickly sweetness that stuck at the back of his throat, and he brought up a hand to staunch the worst of it, resting his arm upon his horse. As far as the eye could see, the land had been scorched— a great, long stretch of crops and farms reduced to ashes and shells. The river lay east, blackened with soot, and it was all Edward could do to say a quiet prayer of thanks that the rains had come, dampening the worst of it and stopping the spread.

"By the gods," Emmett said again. "By the gods."

"This has nothing to do with Gods," said Edward darkly. The rest of his men, riding hard through the wet countryside, came upon them with a clatter, and Edward saw the sagging shoulders of Hema, Lord of this wasted, ruined land.

"How many dead, Hema?" he asked, his voice low. Hema dismounted, tearing off his bronze helm. "How many so far?"

"Twelve," said Hema shortly. "Twelve confirmed when I'd left for town…"

"Collected?" Edward asked. Hema gave a quiet shake of his head.

"Not yet, My King," he replied. "We haven't the men…"

"We've got them now," Edward said bitterly. "Do we know how to find them?"

Hema nodded, hesitating.

"But we don't know _who,_ Your Grace," Hema said softly.

Edward stared, heavy and sad.

"We only know _where_ ," continued Hema. "I know my people… I know these farms, and their owners, but I can only _guess._ Some are so badly burned…"

Edward turned away.

"Take us to them," he ordered. "Take us to the nearest."

"At once."

And they rode through the thick, black muck, to the smoking, burned out shell of a farmhouse, where he saw the blistered, raw corpse of a woman, laying face-down in a pool of water on the ground.

* * *

 _And so it begins,_ thought Bella to herself, seated tall and steady atop the Queen's throne— a place where she had no right to be, but where Edward had placed her, in complete faith, before his departure for the north. The bustle of the throne room was at an all-time high, with common folk and gentry alike swarming at the foot of the dais, each uttering questions and pleas that she had no power to answer.

"Please," Bella said, and Jasper, perched on a stool beside her, gave a quiet frown. "Please, I beg you…"

"A queen does not beg," he said quickly, and Bella, frowning, stared down at him. "A queen _commands."_

"I'm _not_ a queen," she reminded him in an undertone. "I'm not… anything."

"You're a queen in all but name," returned Jasper, "and even that name will come soon enough. These will be _your_ people, and you must learn how to _rule."_

Bella bit her lip, glancing down at him with worry.

"I'm not a ruler."

"But you will be," he returned. "And _soon."_

 _One month,_ Bella thought to herself, glancing back at the bustling crowd of people. One month, and she'd finally hold that title Edward was so desperate to give her.

"Please, listen," she said again. The noise dulled, but did not cease. "Please, _listen!"_

At once, as her command carried over the heads of the group, Bella saw with relief how the bustling crowd stalled. The noise died in an instant, each voice falling silent in the sudden hush, and when Bella stood from her seat, her hands wrapped tightly around her skirt, she saw hundreds of eyes follow her, watching as she spoke.

"The city is safe," she said, repeating the harried words Edward had told her before his departure. "The city… is safe."

"But the north is burning!" came a voice from the rear. "The north, My Lady, burned to the ground!"

Noise rose again and Bella, heart hammering wildly, felt her eyes well with tears.

"Yes, the north burns…"

The crowd rose again, and this time, her guards stepped forth.

"The north burns!" she cried, and the noise grew louder still. "But the city does _not!"_

"Traitors!" bellowed an unseen man. "Hang them! Traitors!"

"The city is safe!"

"The West will come for us!" shouted another voice. "They will burn the fields, and block the roads, and come for us with their fire and their steel!"

Noise rose in a deafening roar, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. It rebounded with echoing chaos, making Bella flinch as Jasper, his face a mask of stone, leapt to his feet. His temper was almost palpable and Bella let it rage, hoping, selfishly, that it might dampen the heightened state of the crowd.

"You will be silent!" Jasper bellowed, and at once, heads turned to stare. He glared at the crowd, his mouth turned down in a scowl. "Your Lady speaks, and you dare to shout over her?"

At once, Bella saw the crowd settle, heads turning away from friends and kin to look instead upon their prince. Bella had no way of knowing _why_ they fell still, why the eyes of even the roughest men in the hall went wary, but with his pale, blonde hair, and bright, blue eyes, Jasper looked the very picture of his father. Later that night it would not be Bella's speech that made its rounds through the taverns and homesteads, but the Prince's righteous anger, and his startling resemblance to the late beloved King.

"The Lady tells you the city is safe, and so it is," continued Jasper. "There is no danger here. Your King is gone to tend to the northern lands, and I assure you… any assailants he finds lurking in the waste will be served the King's Justice!"

Boots hammered on the floor in approval of these words, and those without boots banged their fists on the walls. An approving murmur followed, with whispered, almost giddy anticipation, and the bloodlust made Bella feel faintly sick. She turned her head away, frowning.

"We are blessed," continued Jasper. "The rains came last night, and before he left, the King received word from the commander of the Northern Watchtower that the flames had been dampened."

Another bellow of approval.

"The time for fear has passed," he continued. "And now, we have time for _action."_

The crowd listened closely.

"Take yourselves back to your homes," said Jasper. "Back to your stalls, and your shops, and your children. Back to your supper, which will surely be cold, and to your beds, in which you can rest, safe and warm."

Bella watched as a murmur of whispers broke out again.

"There is no danger here," Jasper repeated, and this time, he did not need to shout. "There is no danger. Your King has made you safe."

And Bella, suddenly lax, felt a shaky relief as she watched the people begin to trail out, followed closely by the remaining Kingsguard, of whom ten had been left to ensure her own safety. When the last petitioner had gone, dipping her a low, respectful curtsey, Bella leaned her head back against her chair, feeling a familiar burning in her eyes.

"Thank you, Jasper," she said softly, and she felt his warm hand on her cheek. A tear had fallen— whether of shame, or of frustration, she could not tell— and at once, she felt his warm weight settle on the armrest.

"You'll gain your confidence," he soothed. "It takes time."

"You're younger than me," she protested. _"Far_ younger."

"Aye," he agreed, "but I've watched great leaders all my life. You've only seen Edward speak, and never under real duress, and even then, only for a short while."

Bella shook her head.

"I'll be better," she vowed at once, and she saw the child frown. "I _have_ to be better."

"They respect you," said Jasper softly, and Bella let out a snort. "They _love_ you."

"They love me while they are safe," she returned. "But what happens when there's danger? _Real_ danger?"

"There always is," Jasper said sagely. "Even when we think we're safe, the west are always a threat."

"How bad was the fire?" she asked, and Jasper let out a sigh. "I don't know how big the north really is… was much of it burned?"

"Not as much as might have been," Jasper said slowly, "but more than Edward would have liked. They've burned farms before, plenty of them, but they've never put an entire pasture to the torch."

"Pasture?"

"Swaths of land," said Jasper at once. "The grasslands are different than other districts. There are no real villages there like there are everywhere else."

Bella nodded. She had seen some of the grasslands during her walk from the jungle to the capital— she had seen how dispersed the people were, how far apart each homestead was from another. You could walk for hours in any direction and meet no other soul— only crops, growing tall and high, and the odd field of untended cattle.

"Fire is dangerous," Bella said softly, recalling Edward's fear over it. She'd been with him when the message had arrived, had watched his face go blank, then white, as he read the short scroll. "Fire can destroy _everything."_

"It can," Jasper agreed, "but it _didn't._ They didn't burn any towns. Only some farms."

"Only farms," Bella repeated, a shaky laugh on her lips. "Alice's house was _only_ a farm, Jasper, and look what happened to her."

At once, he looked contrite.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said at once. "Any loss is terrible, but…"

But it was not a village, Bella knew. It was not a _town._ Gods be good, it was not even their main farmland, where their summer crops were only just beginning to grow, and there was plenty of good, arable land left untouched for those who had escaped the blaze.

Bella put her face in her hands, feeling the stinging wetness of tears.

"People are dead, Jasper," she said, and she got no reply. "People _died_ because of what we've done."

"We've done _nothing_ wrong," he returned at once. "Nothing, Bella. _Nothing."_

Bella shook her head.

"What do they _want?"_ she demanded, a hot seed of anger blooming in her chest. "What do they _want_ from us? I don't understand it."

"The same as they've always wanted," Jasper said. "Our land, our homes, our women, our _King."_

"They _had_ your King," she reminded him, and the boy flinched away. "They had your King, and your Queen too… it hasn't stopped them."

"Because there came another to take his place," said Jasper darkly. "As there will be when my brother is gone. There will _always_ be another King, and so there will always be another war."

 _War._ The word made Bella shudder.

"War is what comes of duty," said Jasper quietly, and Bella glanced up, astonished. "That's what my father always said. Our duty, as princes and Kings, is to protect this island. Protecting the island means guarding against thugs and bullies. And when you fight a bully, the bully fights back."

Bella swallowed back her grief.

"We will not give in to hate, Bella," said Jasper finally, his voice soft and low. "We will not give in to _coercion._ My father never did, and my brother won't either."

"It won't be _safe."_

"It'll _never_ be safe," Jasper said, and Bella saw a new hardness in his gaze. "You've got a gentle soul, Bella. Edward says _I'm_ gentle too, for all that's worth…"

"You're both good," Bella said loyally. "You're both… kind."

"We're both _fighters,_ " he corrected. "Fighters who will do whatever it takes to make things right."

"You only fight when it's needed," she cut in. "Only when…"

"We fight for the innocent," returned Jasper. "We fight for what is _right._ _Rosalie_ is what's right. Her _children_ are what's right. All the innocents in that western stronghold are what's _right,_ and that means that we will _never_ stop fighting until they're all safe. If that means fighting every man in the West to free their children, then by the Gods, that's what we'll do."

Bella listened to this speech with a small, sad smile. Jasper looked so serious— so _grown up—_ that Bella could only sigh, bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss.

"When did you get so wise?" she asked. "When did you get so _… old?"_

Jasper looked down at her, flashing a boyish grin.

"I've grown up with Kings my whole life," he reminded her. "At some point, it's bound to rub off."

"You're still young…"

"But not forever," he returned. "I can't be a boy forever, and with the storm that's coming, I can't think of a better time to become a man."

"A _man,"_ Bella snorted, and the boy had the good grace to look affronted. "You've a ways to go yet, Jasper, before you can call yourself _that."_

He turned away from her, his chin held high.

"But thank you," Bella said softly. "Thank you for what you did… I've never been a very good public speaker."

"You're going to be my sister, soon," Jasper returned, grinning like a fool. "It'll be my _duty_ to speak for you, when you can't."

Bella bit back a laugh.

"I'll do better next time," she vowed. "I promise you. Next time, I won't need you to save me."

"I don't mind."

"I want to save _myself,"_ Bella returned at once. "By the Gods, Jasper, if I do one thing right in this world, I want to save _myself."_

* * *

"The King has returned, My Lady."

Bella, seated quietly atop her throne, glanced up to look at the messenger. The boy, who Bella recognized as the page Roberto, watched her with a solemn gaze, his plump, handsome face striped with dust and soot. He held his cap in his hands— a sign of respect— and he did not look her in the face as she spoke.

"Where is he?"

"In his rooms, My Lady."

"Has he called for me?

"...no," said the child slowly. "He's asked for no one."

"Is he well?"

"He is unhurt," said the boy. "There was no violence… no fighting."

"Did you find the raiders?"

"No."

"Do you know who they are?"

"No, My Lady…"

The child squirmed beneath her gaze, and Bella saw the slight tremor in his hands. She stared at him a little longer, watching for his quick, handsome smile, but she saw nothing but his trembling bottom lip, and the welling of tears in those large, brown eyes.

"Roberto?"

"My Lady?"

"Look at me."

At once, the child did as he was bid. Pity grew in her like a seed in a pot, rising higher and higher until it bloomed in her throat. She saw the sorrow on the boy's face, the ghost of horror at what he'd seen in those burned fields, and she smiled, sad and quick, and gave him a gentle nod.

"Thank you, Roberto. You may go."

At once, the child bowed and backed himself out of the room. Bella stared after him, listening to the quiet patter of his feet in the hallway just outside, before there was a slam of a door, a quiet shuffling of boots on stone, and then silence once more. Torches flickering in sconces along the wall crackled in the dark and Bella stood, gazing down towards the great, arched doors.

"I'll go up," she told the guard, who said nothing, but followed close behind her. "I _must_ go up…"

"My Lady…" The sentry spoke quietly, as if he were not sure if he would be allowed. Bella paused, listening. "My Lady, perhaps…"

"Perhaps?" she prompted, and the man went pink. "Perhaps what?"

The man faltered.

"Sometimes," be began slowly, "after a great trial, it is best for a man to be left alone."

"Alone?"

"Yes, My Lady. To… clear his mind."

"Of what?"

The soldier bristled.

"There was great tragedy today, My Lady," he said soberly. _"Great_ tragedy."

"Were you there?"

"Yes."

"Did you see?"

"I did."

"And _what_ did you see?" Bella asked sharply. "What happened in the north?"

The man hesitated, and his mouth snapped shut.

"It is not for me to say," he replied after a long silence. "It is not… my place."

"But the King should be alone?"

"Yes, My Lady," said the man quickly. Bella turned her face away. "It is best… and kindest."

"Kindest for whom?"

"For yourself," he responded. "Days like these are… _trying."_

"Was the King upset?"

"Undoubtedly."

" _Very_ upset?"

"I couldn't say…"

"Then _alone,"_ she said pointedly, "is the very _last_ place he should be. I'm going up… and if he doesn't want me, he can tell me so himself."

At once, the soldier was contrite.

"Yes, Ma'am. As you wish…"

 _As you wish._ Bella bit down her sudden sadness as she turned towards the stairs, and made her way swiftly up the long, stone steps.

Bella was not used to the quiet of the castle. She was not used to the sobriety of the guards, or the absence of the maids. There were no footmen out tonight— not even one to change the candles on the sills along the wall. There were no serving staff rushing to and fro with trays of sweetmeats and breads or ewers of water and wine. The great hall was empty— there would be no dinner tonight, and there were no flutes or drums in the ballroom. No torches were lit in the library, no courtiers making merry in the gallery. The servants had fled upstairs to bed— Bella could hardly blame them— and the soldiers knew better than to interfere.

The third floor came slowly and Bella, walking alone through the long, dark corridor, felt a strange and eerie chill on the back of her neck. She did not like the dark— she never had— and though she could see a sliver of moon through one of the long, tall windows in an unused bedchamber, it cast no light to lead her on. The guards did not follow her— they remained still and silent at the top of the stairs— and by the time Bella reached the tall, closed door, she could no longer see the light from their torches around the wall.

She listened softly at the door while she gnawed anxiously on her lip. She had never come unbidden to his rooms before— she had never felt the need, since he always called for her— and she was not sure whether she should knock or simply let herself inside. There was no noise behind the door— no chatter of servants, come to tend the fire, no raging shouts to tell of anger or upset. There were no footsteps tracing paths across the floor, and only a flicker of light at the crack— perhaps a candle, or a distant torch.

"Edward?" called Bella softly, her face held close to the door. There was no reply. "Edward, may I come in?"

The door remained still, and there was not a sound from within.

"I know you're there," she persisted, leaning her forehead against the wood. "Please. Let me in."

No response.

Uncertainty gnawed at her like a sickness. She felt it deep inside her bones, in the pit of her stomach, and the lump in her throat. She felt it behind her eyes, pricking like tears, and she saw it in the tremble of her hand, poised against the latch. She wanted to see him— wanted to take him up and kiss away the sadness she knew she'd find— but she was afraid, too. Afraid of what she might find, of the man she might discover should she breach the bounds of trust and intrude on his private space. She wanted to _see_ him, to _touch_ him… she wanted to tell him over and over that it was _not_ his fault that the north had suffered, and that he'd done just what he had to do to keep his people safe, that they _were_ safe, though there had surely been many lost…

"Please?" she said, her voice small. She cursed its tremble, its weakness. "Please, let me in?"

Still, there was no sound. Bella pulled down on the latch.

At once, as she knew it would, the unlocked door swung in. She blinked as she peered inside, squinting her eyes against the blackness of the room, and let her gaze fall first on the bare, black hearth, and then on the prone figure she saw atop the dark, cold sofa.

He did not stir when she came in, but his bright, troubled gaze followed her as she lifted the candle from the sill, carrying it carefully over to the chair.

"You frightened me," she said, setting the candle gently on a table. Edward didn't say a word, and she knelt down on the hard floor beside him.

He glanced at her, his face unreadable.

"I'm safe," he said, after a long, pregnant pause. "Gods be praised, I'm safe."

She took up his hand in hers and kissed it, ignoring the grimace he gave her.

"I'm filthy," he said shortly, pulling his hand away. "I know I must offend…"

He was not wrong. Though the light was dim, Bella could see the day's toil on him like paint on a canvas. It covered his shirt, his hands, his face, in all manner of dust and grime. Sweat had dried, pooling dirt in hollows on his neck. Bella could see the black muck caked beneath his nails, and the muddy footprints that led from the door to the hearth. His hair was a mess, fallen loose from its tie, and he smelled of work, and of horses.

"You worried me," she said softly, ignoring his protest and taking up his hand again. He let her do it without another complaint. "I didn't know what had become of you…"

"I'm _safe,"_ he said again, and this time, she heard the bitterness in his voice. "I'm _always_ safe."

"As you should be."

"As _they_ should have been."

Bella's mouth fell shut.

"Do you know what we found there today?" he asked. His head was resting on the arm of the couch, his eyes fixed steadily on a spot on the ceiling. "Do you know what we saw?"

"No…"

He laughed, hard and cold.

"Death, Bella," he said, and she felt his fingers squeeze around hers. "We found death. There was nothing left living… not even a _cow,_ for God's sake, and all for what?"

She bit her lip.

"For revenge," he said, after she offered no explanation. "For fear. For _hatred,_ though the Gods only know what it is exactly that they hate so badly. I don't think _they_ even know why they do it. Only that they _do,_ and that they must keep on."

"I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," he said gruffly. "It's never been _your_ fault…"

"I'm sorry all the same," she said again. "I'm sorry for the hurt, and I'm sorry for your sorrow."

He let his eyes fall shut and Bella watched the shadow of his throat bob as he swallowed back his grief. He tossed an arm up across his eyes, heaving out a sigh, before he threw his legs over the edge of the seat and stood.

"You should go," he said slowly, and she followed quietly behind him as he walked towards the window. "Take your leave of me."

"I don't want to leave you."

"No, but you should," he murmured. "I'm no fit company. Not tonight, anyhow."

"I'm not looking for _fit company…"_

"Leave me, Bella," he said again, and Bella shook her head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're sad."

"I'll go on being sad whether you're here or not," he replied. "All I need is a bath, and a rest, and I'll be better by the morning."

"Then let me stay," she begged. "Let me be with you."

He watched her, his face inscrutable.

"I'm in a black mood, Bella," he said. "My temper is short, and I don't want to offend."

"I'm not offended," she said at once. "Not a bit…"

"I've not said anything unkind yet," he reminded her, barking a reluctant laugh. "I've not been… _short_ with you."

"Let me stay," she pleaded. "Let me… be here."

"There's nothing to be done."

"I know."

"There's nothing more to _do."_

"I know…"

"You can't fix this. _I_ can't fix this. There's nothing at all that can be fixed tonight, and it makes me weary, and angry, and sad…"

"I _know,"_ she said again, her voice falling to a whisper. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, her lips pressed to his throat. "I know, Edward. I know."

He did not pull away from her when she brought her arms around his waist. Her hands, moving slowly, slid up his back, and when she found no resistance there she brought them even higher still to touch his hair. She did not kiss him— did not pull him down to her— but instead she pulled her face away and let him gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. What he was looking for, she would never know, but she saw the hardness break when he pulled one of her hands free and pressed his lips to her palm, letting out a deep, warm sigh.

"You can't undo the things we saw," he said softly, and Bella felt a renewed pang of grief. "You can't… _help."_

"I _know,_ " she said again, and this time, he frowned when his hand grew wet on her face. He wiped her tear, leaving a streak of black across her cheek. "I _know,_ Edward. But I'm to be your wife."

He stared at her.

"I'm to be your _wife,"_ she repeated. "It will be my duty to share in all your troubles…"

"You'll be my _wife,_ not my confessor," he said at once. "It's not your burden to bear."

"All of your burdens will be mine, just as mine will be yours," she said. "I _want_ to share in them, even if they make me sad."

"I never want you sad," he said at once, and the force with which he said it made her smile. It did not reach her eyes and Edward saw it well, shaking his head and drawing her close for the first time that night.

"I _never_ want you sad," he repeated, and she shushed him.

"It's not your choice to make," she said. "My sorrow is yours, and yours is mine."

She pulled away, her heart thrumming in her chest. His hands reached out, not quite ready to let her go, and she felt his grip at her waist.

"Stay, then," he said softly, and he pressed his lips gently to hers. "Stay with me, just for tonight…"

He pressed his face down into her neck. She held him, strong and steady, until she felt some of the tension ease away, his shoulders slumped and trembling as the worry and the sorrow came rushing all at once.

"For tonight," he repeated, and she heard the tremble in his voice. "Just for tonight, Bella. Please."

"Hush, now," she soothed, and she tightened her grip on his waist. "Hush, now… I'll stay until you order me out, be it only for tonight, or for all the nights to come."

And when he began to weep she felt her own tears come, sliding down her cheeks like rain to fall into his hair until their lonely candle faltered and flickered, leaving them together in the dark.

 **A/N: Phew... Thanks again for all your patience. It's been a crazy few months, but I can finally say that my first teaching contract has ended! I'm back on the supply teaching list, which means that my evenings and weekends are all my own again, so hopefully, I'll have a lot more time to write. This story has been nagging me for months, and it's a big relief to be able to get back into it.**

 **Throughout the next few chapters, things are going to get moving... we've got a wedding coming up, and a honeymoon, and tensions with the West are finally ramping up. I've revised the outline for the story (added some new tidbits, removed some others), so the final chapter count is still up in the air, but we've still got quite a few things to cover before the end.**

 **I've also added another world-building resource to my Weebly gallery. If you go to the site (moonchild707 . weebly . com) and use the links at the top of the page to find "The Island", there is a new document called "Districts of Marolando" that will give you a few more details about each of the twelve Maronese districts. I'm also in the process of creating a second map to outline where all of these districts are located so you'll have a better idea of the geography. I make all of these resources for my own benefit, but many of you seem to enjoy these little extras as well so I'm happy to share them.**

 **On another note... I think little Shasta might be my favourite OC in the story so far.**

 **As always, please let me know what you think! I always love hearing from all of you! 3**


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

 _From the Winter Council of the Year P.C.T. 45_

 _Insofar as the advisors agree, so shall be the structure of the King's Council:_

 _The Royal Council shall be formed from twelve Councillors, appointed by the citizens of each district of Marolando. Any man of goodly age and amenable disposition shall be eligible to claim the Seat of his district, so long as he earns a majority vote. Majority vote is determined by the number of votes earned compared to the number of votes cast._

 _Elections shall be held at least once every five years, or sooner should a Councillor be deemed no longer fit to serve._

 _Councillors may be dismissed at any time by the King, at his own discretion._

 _Any man of sixteen years may vote in Council elections. All home-bearing men over eighteen years are mandated to vote in Council elections. Failure to vote is hereby decreed a punishable offence. The vote of each man over sixteen years will be interpreted as the sole vote of his household. No two men in the same household may cast a vote. In case of any dispute, the elder voter's ballot shall be counted._

 _Should no men be eligible to vote in a household,_

Bella's hand, cramping around the heavy, ornate pen, began to tremble, and a spot of dark, black ink blotted the page.

"Dammit," she cursed, bringing the parchment closer to her candle. The ink dripped down, rolling right to the edge of the page before it fell with a gentle plop to the pile of discarded papers on the floor. The scroll snapped up when she let it fall, and though the dry chuckle of the old Master piqued her, she said nothing to rebuke him.

"Let us look," said the man gently and Bella, red-faced and chastised, handed it up to him without a word.

The old man was called Den. Originally from Honeybee Point, he had entered the service of the royal household long before Edward had been born to serve as Master to the young Crown Prince, Edward I. The present King Edward did not know exactly how old the Master was. His kindly face, lined and cracked with age, gave her some idea, but Edward would not speculate, citing ill luck.

"Old is as old does, Bella," he'd said to her after her first lesson in the library. "I dare not inquire. He's been a fixture in this castle longer than any other living soul, and I dare not tempt the fates to take him from us."

"Just here," said Den, and Bella, recalled to the present, glanced down at her ruined parchment. Her hand was still shaky. Her letters, neat enough in ballpoint ink or pencil, had not yet developed the ornate flourish that Maronese script demanded. Her penmanship looked like chicken scratch next to Edward's near-perfect copperplate, and though her weeks of practice showed some improvement, she still had a ways to go.

Den gestured to a hastily looped capital C, which made Bella's face go pink.

"I'm not an artist," she complained and Den laughed again. "I've never had nice writing."

"Practice leads to mastery, as you well know," he said soothingly. Edward had told him about her education— about her work as a teacher— and Den had taken it so much to heart that Bella, though she really did try her best, could hardly bear to disappoint him.

"I might be a lost cause."

He tutted at her.

"Not a bit of it," he said and Bella, pursing her lips, said nothing until he had lowered himself onto a stool at her side. "I've had worse pupils than you, and I've made brilliant successes out of them."

"Perhaps," Bella agreed," But I doubt you've had any so unlearned as me _._ All the others, I'm sure, could actually _speak_ Maronese with some competency. Language is a funny thing, you know, and once a mother tongue is learned, it is exceedingly difficult to _unlearn_ it."

The old man's eyes twinkled.

"Indeed," he said. "But nevertheless, you _are_ learning."

"I suppose."

"I _know,"_ returned Den. "I know our source writings don't make for the most lively reading…"

Bella fought back a grin.

"...but, they _are_ important."

Indeed, she knew it well.

Deep in the archives of the old castle library was a deposit of old scrolls, so worn and faded that the ink had turned grey with age. The parchment, stained and tattered from centuries of study, was so thin beneath her fingers that she feared the slightest mishandling might tear it. The script was so ornate it was almost illegible— modern Maronese script, which in itself was a work of art in Bella's eyes, had nothing on these old writings— and only when she squinted, fighting to make out the old words in fading ink, could she make even the slightest sense of it.

Den was an expert. Den, though his eyes were failing and his hands had taken on a permanent tremor, knew each and every word in the documents he showed her. When her clumsy tongue stumbled over an unfamiliar Maronese word or an unusual, phonetic spelling, he knew just how to guide her. When her fingers, awkward and nervous, fumbled over an old manuscript, he was there to hold it steady. Den knew the laws of the land. Den had helped to _write_ the laws of the land.

And now, in the deepest annals of the King's library, the teacher had become the student.

"I don't know how I'll ever remember it all," she said with a sigh, carefully rolling the old scroll back up to deposit it in its protective sheath. "There are so very many."

"You'll catch on," soothed Den. When she offered the scroll to him he took it, and Bella watched as he carried it up a tall ladder to rest atop a high shelf, out of reach of the bright sunlight cascading through the skylights. He moved with a confidence that was startling for his age— his feet were sure, his arms strong and wiry, and though he had to be nearly eighty, if not already past, the ladder seemed no real obstacle.

"As Queen," continued Den, rifling through some new papers and tucking some books beneath his arm, "it will be your duty to know them."

Bella felt a queasy, excitable ache in the pit of her belly.

When she was _Queen._

That title still seemed ludicrous. That title, spoken openly by many in the castle now that the date was so near, still seemed so _foreign._ She would be a _Queen._ She would be the _only_ Queen. She would have ruling power over an entire island— an island that both feared and revered her, that thought her a divine outsider come to bring good fortune.

Bella, fed up with this constant slander, had finally undertaken to learn the grand tales and legends of creation. The tale of the island being pulled from the sea. The tale of the Trickster bringing fire. The tale of Memory, whose own altar lay in this very library in the form of a dusty, stone bench revered only by scholars, and whose work she now studied, as written by the hands of men from centuries past.

The people said that these were _her_ stories. The people said that she, like the countless unnamed in the annals of time, was a princess of the sky, or a daughter of the moon. That same Moon who, overcome by sorrow when she was parted from her Sun, let her tears shine silver in the night. Silver, they said, like her engagement gown— the gown which was, according to popular legend, a gift from her own, heavenly father to bless the match.

To the people, these stories were her history.

"Here," said Den, cutting into her daydreams with a start. He offered her another book, this one bound in red leather, and she ran her fingers over the dusty cover with a frown. "Try these on for size."

Bella, peeking carefully at the first chapter of the great, red tome, felt a sigh bubble up on her lips before she could keep it down.

 _On the Cultivation of Crops and the Raising of Livestock, from the year P.C.T. 102_

Den chuckled, handing her another pen.

* * *

"Eighty six, My King," came a soft, defeated voice. Bella felt her heart throb with anxiety. "Eighty six, with five expectant mothers."

Edward, head hung low, let out a long, harsh breath.

"With or without supplies?"

"With _some_ supplies," said Hema slowly, "though not many. Most of their crops were destroyed."

"Aye," said Edward. "Aye, I recall."

"We can take _some,"_ said Lorenzo slowly, and Bella peered at him worriedly. Lorenzo did not notice her concern— he watched Edward with careful wariness but Edward, absorbed by his own thoughts, took no notice. Lorenzo's gaze flickered between Edward and Hema, neither of whom spoke, before he settled instead on Bella, whose gaze he met at once.

"My Lady?"

She swallowed hard.

"I… don't know," she admitted. Her voice, small and shaky, seemed loud in the hush. The other ten councilors, all quiet and sombre, shook their heads.

"They must be resettled," said Edward finally, and Bella, grateful for the reprieve, sank back in her seat. Beneath the table, Bella felt Edward press his leg to hers in a show of quiet support. "They must be housed."

"As I said," repeated Lorenzo, "City East can take _some."_

"How many is _some?"_ queried Hema. "We've got many families."

Lorenzo frowned.

"I would have to check with my building owners," he said slowly, "and with the treasury. Those without supplies will need to find work before they can pay."

" _Before they can pay,"_ grunted Hema, uncharacteristically harsh. "Half of our caravan are women and children. They may never be able to pay."

"With husbands?"

"Some."

"Fathers?"

"Fewer still," growled Hema. "It seems they were the main target… along with the land."

"Is the land arable, Hema?" asked Edward, speaking up over the bristling murmurs. "Is it yet workable?"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," sighed Hema. "We don't know yet. It's still too wet, and there is too much ash to tell."

"How _will_ you tell?" asked Bralto from the end of the table.

"We will test, I suppose," said Hema quickly. "Seed an area when the next planting is due, and see what takes. The fire destroyed the homesteads— not one house that burned is salvageable— but we may yet find good fortune when the ash is cleared."

"Which crops were lost?" asked Arman, who had so far said nothing, but had listened with a glimmering anger. "Which fields?"

"Potatoes," replied Hema, "and grain— wheat, rye, barley for sure, and perhaps the rice paddies near the river. We've yet to send anyone to check."

"But the farmer is gone?" asked Argos, his voice like flint. "There is no one tending it?"

"No," said Hema. "No. The family is gone."

The table, bristling, fell silent again. Rice, Bella knew, was a rare commodity on the island, as it only grew in one small span of marshland on the banks of the Sunon river. The rice paddies were manned by one family, as had been the custom for nearly two hundred years. The wisdom of that trade had been passed from father to son through countless generations, and was such a closely guarded secret that no other farmer knew the exact routine of plant and harvest.

"No rice, no wheat," said Corman, glancing worriedly up and down the table. "The fields in the south, My King, have yet to be tilled…"

"When is that expected?" asked Edward. Corman shook his head.

"Yield will be low," he admitted. "We rely on the north to supplement our own growth."

" _Our_ crops are plentiful," cut in Mirka. His district, the Farmer's Village, was the Mecca of crop harvesting in Marolando, and was too far east to be in imminent danger from the west. "As is our norm. We have some wheat, Sire, and fields of potatoes. It is the livestock that concerns me… have the cattle and pigs been counted?"

"Not yet," sighed Hema. "Those farmers nearer the city have taken on what beasts they can, but as you well know, many families have fled to the capital for refuge."

Edward, disengaging his hand from Bella's, rested his chin on his folded fingers. Bella felt a familiar anxiety brewing deep in the pit of her belly but she schooled it before it could show, sitting back in her seat with her fingers around her golden goblet.

"Fewer farmers and fewer fields," said Edward, running a hand over his eyes. "Do we know how many beasts have been lost altogether?"

"Impossible to say," said Corman, shaking his head. "There is no central tally."

Edward shook his head.

"And grain?" he said again, glancing this time at Hema. "How many fields torched?"

"We're still gathering figures."

"Indeed." Edward's foot began to tap beneath the table and Bella, feeling the nerves rolling off of him like a wave, stilled his foot with hers. She saw the twitch of a smile beneath his anxious worry, though it was gone just as soon as it had come.

"A lesser yield, then," said Edward. "Fewer crops than usual. But we are not low yet, are we Mirka?"

"No, Sire. Not yet."

"And the winter crop?"

"Will be sown just after the summer harvest," said Mirka at once. "As is customary."

"In the south as well," said Corman. "We have not been importuned. Our crops— though we have fewer fields than before— are thriving."

"Be that as it may," said Edward slowly, "I would like a count, from all three of you. Crops, yields, a tally of livestock…"

Hema, Corman, and Mirka nodded at once.

"We must make sure our winter stores are full," he continued. "And we must prepare for the possibility…"

His voice trailed off and the men shifted uncomfortably. Lorenzo, seated next to Bella, glanced nervously through the western window.

"We must prepare for the possibility of further _setbacks,_ " said Edward carefully. Bralto, Lord of Southern Watchtower, let out a sharp, angry sigh. "We must be prepared for any further interference, and ensure that our borders are kept safe."

"We've no men," said Ramos, glancing nervously down the span of the table. "We've no new soldiers coming to the towers. Not for almost half a year."

"Emmett will see to it," said Edward at once. "We will dispatch the men you need."

"And what of the mountain pass?" asked Lorenzo. The table, roused to attention by this query, watched Edward with a rising, nervous energy. Edward frowned, letting out a deep, sorry sigh, and began to toy with his goblet on the table.

"We don't know _where_ these particular Westerners came in," Edward said, "though we have our suspicions. Men will be sent to guard the pass, as well as the river in the north, and the passage at Terosankta."

A murmur of agreement went down the table.

"We will continue to build our forces to replace the men we deploy," Edward went on. "You will put the word out in every district that the Commander is looking. I know there were many youths turned away in the past, but I think that this time, Emmett will not be so choosy."

The men drank in agreement.

"The curfew will remain in place, for the time being." Edward glanced over at Bella, who felt her cheeks flame red. "Until those responsible are caught."

"Do we know what to look for?" asked Arman.

"We have a description."

"A good one?"

"As good as we're likely to get."

There was a long, tense break in the conversation and Bella, desperate to fill the silence with something, took a sip of the dark, heady wine. It caught in her throat like an itch and she shrank back, fighting back a cough. It was Rohailo, so far quiet and subdued, who spoke up in the silence, his voice hesitant and unsure.

"And what, My King, might we expect once the perpetrators are caught?"

At once, it seemed like every man at the table sat up a little straighter. Edward, peering speculatively at his newest Councillor, narrowed his eyes.

"The same as we might expect when any criminal is captured," said Edward slowly. "He will be brought to justice."

At once, a murmur coursed around the table.

"Justice, My King?"

"Yes…"

"The _King's_ justice?"

"Aye, the King's Justice," said Edward sharply. "Justice for each new widow, each child orphaned, and each life lost."

The council bristled again, though this time, there was no sullenness in it. The room seemed to crackle with electricity, though Bella knew it to be quite impossible, and she felt a shiver course its way down her spine. The mood had shifted almost instantly— the men, riled and saddened by the blatant assault on their livelihoods and their dignity, had come to the table with surly faces and heavy moods. Bella had felt the weight of it the moment she and Edward had stepped into the room. The men had risen, as they always had, and Lorenzo had pulled out Bella's chair at the King's left side. The men had greeted her— some with a word, others with a bow— and Bella had done her best to reply, but that heavy, desolate sadness had pervaded everything, leaving them cold, and sullen, and downcast.

But that heaviness had vanished with that one, simple word. The sadness, turned to righteous fury in an instant, had risen like a serpent from the grass, and when Hema, eyes gleaming with pride, drained the cup at his lips, it did not take long for the rest of the men to follow suit.

"To justice," said Hema, his voice low and rumbling. A collective assent went over the Council. "To the King's fine Justice!"

And Bella, sipping slowly at her wine, felt an eerie, creepy dread well up in her heart.

* * *

It was in the dusky twilight, just as the sky turned from azure to indigo that Bella, seated by the fire in the King's private rooms, found her voice.

"Edward?"

Edward, lost in his own private thoughts, looked up from the fire with a start. He blinked at her, shifting in his seat to straighten his slouch, and offered her such a wan, unconvincing smile that she frowned.

"What is it, sweet?" he asked, his voice rough with disuse. "What's the matter?"

Bella, lips pursed, placed her mug of hot, mulled wine on the table between them. Edward followed her motions with concern, leaning forward in his seat to reach out a hand. She let him twine his fingers with hers, his chilly hands almost icy against the residual warmth from her cup, and when she pulled him forward he stood, coming instead to sit on the empty cushion beside her.

"What is it?" he asked again as Bella turned to face him. "What's the problem?"

"There's no problem," she said at once, though his look of concern did not change. "I'm just… curious."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks went pink.

"I'm not sure I quite understand," she said slowly, and at once, he sat back in his seat. "I'm not sure I'm… _clear."_

"About what?"

"During the Council meet…"

His face fell at once.

"Aye, the meet," he sighed, and Bella caught her lip between her teeth. "Not a pleasant talk, I think."

"No," she agreed. "Not particularly, but…"

"But what?"

"At the end," she said slowly, and his face went quickly blank. "At the end, there was some talk…"

"Yes."

" _Strange_ talk."

He said nothing, his gaze fixed worriedly on her face.

"I don't quite understand," she finished. "What exactly it means."

Edward, shifting uncomfortably, stared up at her with concern.

"Which part?" he asked carefully.

"The part about _justice."_ The word came haltingly, and her heart began to race. "What exactly did you mean by it?"

He watched her still, his face as unreadable as stone, before he seemed to sink back into the sofa, blowing out a long, hard breath.

"How is it where you're from?" asked Edward, and Bella, taken aback by the sudden shift, shook her head. "For criminals? What do your people do with them?"

"They go to prison," Bella said at once. There was no Maronese word for 'prison' and the English was lost on him in an instant. "Like your dungeons," she continued. "Places to keep criminals secure."

"I see."

"And sometimes, there is a trial," she went on. "Depending on the crime."

"As it is here."

Bella nodded quickly.

"I know," she said. "I remember the stories."

"Yes."

"But what is the _King's_ justice?" she queried. A strange, queasy ache in her stomach belied her nerves as she fought back her suspicion.

"Is there no punishment?" asked Edward delicately and Bella, frowning, shrugged her shoulders. "Is there no… discipline?"

"Of a sort," she replied. "Prison, mostly. Sometimes more."

"More?"

She glanced sharply at him.

"Sometimes," she repeated. "Depending on the crime."

"Just so," said Edward quickly. "Just so, Bella…"

Bella looked down at her lap. The fabric of her skirt, shiny and soft, caught the light from the fire, and she watched the shadows dance until she heard Edward's sigh.

"The King's Justice is the height of my power," said Edward slowly. Bella caught a note of displeasure in his voice— a hardness that made him sound stiff and sombre. "It is… the ultimate punishment."

Bella swallowed hard.

"You mean…"

"I mean death," he said, and even though the word was spoken gently, she felt a coarse, unhappy jolt.

"And you…?"

"Yes."

The room fell silent once more.

"How often?"

"Never, yet," said Edward quickly and Bella, letting out a shaky breath of relief, felt his fingers squeeze her knee. "Not once."

"And your father?"

Edward frowned at her.

"Four," he said quietly. "Four men, all traitors."

"Traitors?"

"A danger to the realm. A danger to _us,"_ he explained. "Two were Western, and two were from town."

Bella shook her head.

"How…"

"How what?"

"How do you _decide?"_ she queried. In her breast, her heart fluttered like butterfly wings. "How do you _know?"_

"Goodness," Edward sighed, tossing his head back. _"I_ don't, Bella. Well, not _truly_."

She stared at him.

"It is the decision of the Council," he finished. "And the jury."

"Jury?"

"Always," he replied. "Always, in cases of death."

"But today…"

His face darkened at once. Bella, only somewhat perturbed, continued on.

"Today, you said…"

"Aye. I know what I said."

"Do you?" Bella asked, and at once, his liquid, emerald eyes fastened onto hers. He stared at her, a discontented pucker between his brows. She brought her finger up to smooth it, to wipe the frown away, but his face remained stubbornly creased and he turned his face to kiss her palm, his lips warm and soft.

"I do," he said again. "And I stand by it."

"Without a trial?" Bella asked, leaning away.

"If I knew them to be guilty."

"And how would you know?"

Edward stared at her.

"We have witnesses."

"Living?"

"Yes," said Edward lowly. "Yes, living. _Thirteen_ of them living."

Bella stared at him.

"Did they see?" she asked, and he turned away from her. "Are they _certain?"_

" _Yes."_ His words were sharp. "Yes, Bella. They are certain."

"Have you spoken with them?"

"Yes."

"Have you _questioned_ them?"

He turned to her, his face suddenly dark with sorrow.

"No," he said, after a long, pregnant pause. "No, Bella. It would not do."

Feeling more certain of herself by the second, she opened her mouth to retort.

" _Because,"_ Edward cut her off before she could begin. "Because, Bella, they are all of them children."

And like a trap, her mouth fell shut, her face flaming so red she thought it might burst.

"Children?"

"Yes."

"Thirteen of them?"

"So far," he said.

"Where?"

"At the Home," he said delicately. "With the Matrons, now."

It took Bella a moment to understand.

"The orphanage," she said, without question. "They've no family?"

"None yet living."

"Not even…"

"Not even a godparent," said Edward gently. "People are scarce in the Grasslands, as you saw yourself. Farms are dispersed. Families are isolated."

"But…"

Edward waited, his face downcast.

"If there is no one left…"

"They are cared for," he said at once, and Bella, unable to help herself, glanced sadly through the window. She knew the orphanage was down in the village, to the east of the castle keep. She'd spotted the low, squat building on her walks with Rosalie and Esme.

"They are cared for," said Edward again and this time, she felt his hand at her back. She went readily— let him draw her into a tight, trembling embrace— and she rested her face against his shoulder.

She shivered, though the night was far from cool.

"Thirteen families," she said with sorrow. "Thirteen _whole_ families…"

Edward pulled away, glancing down at her.

"Twenty nine families," he corrected softly. "Twenty nine _gone,_ and over forty displaced."

Bella struggled to wrap her head around it.

"And so," continued Edward, "though I can see that it disturbs you, I _must_ stand by what I said in Council today."

Bella, forcing herself to be still, could not meet his gaze.

"When the perpetrators are caught," he went on, "there _will_ be consequences."

Bella pulled him tighter.

"When I lay eyes upon them, they _will_ be made to pay. They will pay for the crops they've ruined, and the homes they've burned. They will pay for the bounty taken, and the livelihoods lost, and most of all, they will pay for those families who have been so thoroughly destroyed that there is hardly a hope in hell that they'll be able to rebuild."

"And the children?" Bella queried, swallowing back her sadness. "What of the children?"

"We will do all we can for them," said Edward gently. "Just as we always have. We will do everything in our power to give them the life they deserve— to keep their bellies full and their beds warm."

But to Bella, who had never known anything other than luxury _,_ there seemed so much more to life than a warm bed and an ample plate.

* * *

On the long, marble steps of the temple Bella stood, awe-struck, as she stared up at the glittering facade.

"Come, Bella," chuckled Edward, his lips at her ear. At her back, dozens of spectators had come to watch, and there was a loud, rising cheer from the crowd that made her face flush red. Edward's arm was twined with hers, his solid presence steadying her nerves.

"Come," said Edward again, and Bella began to walk. The stairs were high— indeed, Bella had an unpleasant, queasy feeling as she climbed them, refusing to look back at the lower ground of the road for fear that the sight would make her dizzy, and she would fall.

Despite the fact that she had heard plenty said about the temple, she had not, as of yet, laid eyes on it. The steps beneath her feet were wide— great, unbroken slabs of glittering white marble, worn down in the center from centuries of wandering feet. At the top of these steps there was a massive wooden door, so highly polished that it almost seemed to reflect the square below. That door was set in walls of thick, immovable stone— not the red, hardy rock that made up the castle and the walls, but a shining stone of light grey, almost as smooth as the marble stairs. It spanned for such a length that Bella felt quite small in its shadow, gazing up with wonder at its one, great dome, topped with a small statue that she could barely make out.

At the top of the steps, Edward paused.

"Look back," he said and Bella, grinning, looked over her shoulder. The square was teeming with bodies— some with business in the great, round square, and others without, but all with heads turned and hands waving towards the pair of them.

At once, as if by instinct, Edward raised a hand in greeting and Bella, following suit, earned herself a rising cheer.

"Come," said Edward again. "We must go in."

"Are we _allowed_ in?" asked Bella wondrously, glancing nervously at the door's handle, which was almost as big as her head. Edward chuckled. "It isn't… forbidden?"

"No," he said. "No, Bella. It is not forbidden. Least of all to _you."_

At once, she felt her stomach writhe. The great doors, which looked so immovable, gave one, loud creak, and began to swing open.

"See?" Edward said, bending so close that his nose brushed her hair. "Nothing to worry about."

As the doors swung inward, scraping against the stone floor within, Bella craned her neck to see the alcove that lay beyond.

What she saw did not disappoint.

Opulence and splendour, Bella knew, were not the ways of Island folk. There were no great palaces here, save the King's, and even _it_ had more than one purpose. The King's home was not solely a residence— it was the seat of government, a courthouse, a training yard, and a homestead, all in one. The King was not the only occupant. The big houses along the city's western walls, which residents called _grand,_ were really quite average in Bella's eyes— tall, narrow houses joined wall-to-wall with its neighbours, with yards so small that no garden could ever be grown. The markers of real wealth were the warped, single-pane glass windows that merchants installed on the fronts of their homes, the very richest marked by the same diamond pane pattern that had been used in the castle proper.

Opulence and splendour was _expensive,_ Bella knew, and wealth on the island was finite. Gold was for coins, not artworks or walls, and precious stones were only seen in jewelry.

But when she walked into that great, sprawling temple, with its inlaid floors and high, unreachable ceilings, Bella suddenly felt as if she knew where all the wealth on the island had gone— a single candlestick, held in an ornate, golden sconce, would be enough to feed a family for a year.

She balked at it and Edward, watching her closely, let out a chuckle.

"Welcome to the Temple," he said gently, squeezing her hand in his. "Welcome to the House of Gods."

At once, Bella was entranced.

"Who built this place?" she asked, her voice echoing in the great, stone keep. "Where on earth did all this stone come from?"

Edward chuckled.

"We don't know, exactly. It is a very old altar," said Edward, leading her further into the sanctuary. "An old, humble altar…"

There was nothing at all _humble_ about this place.

A great, stone room with seamless, rounded walls was towered over by a series of domes so high that Bella, staring up, could not make out just what was painted there. She walked down a wide aisle— almost as long as the temple itself— and on either side, polished to the highest gleam, were rows upon rows of hard, wooden chairs. Above her, in the highest dome she had seen from outside, Bella saw a series of geometric windows— triangles and hexagons in alternating patterns— that let in a circle of light from the world outside to fall, unencumbered, on a large, stone dais that stood at the farthest edge of the room. Windows paned with smooth, clear glass had been painted with brilliant gloss and shine, letting in rainbows of light that only just dimmed the scalding heat from the sun outside. On those same walls, inlaid with gold lettering and words that she could not read, were painted scenes from myth— great canvasses filled with portraits of deities, some glad, and others angry. By the window painted orange and red, Bella saw the myth of fire. By another window of forest green and jungle gold, she saw the form of a naked woman enticing beasts.

But it was the dais— that large, stone platform atop which Bella saw an old, rough-hewn altar— that gave her pause.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" asked Edward, letting go of Bella's hand when she took a careful step forward. There was no barrier here— not like Bella might have expected in the grand, Baroque churches in her own world— but still, she did not cross the threshold to step forward. Somehow, it did not seem right. Somehow, it did not seem _holy._

She stared at it instead, her mouth slightly agape as she leaned forward to get a closer look.

The dais, carved from the same, grey stone as the walls outside, had been covered in a delicate inlay of mosaic tiles. Brilliantly coloured and deliciously preserved, Bella let her eyes rove over the floor, which had evidently been envisioned as the great, wide sea. Waves, formed by delicate shards of azure and cobalt, were capped by white waves of the lightest, foamy blue. Tiles as small as slivers had been carefully carved and hewn to fit into the tiniest gaps in the intricate landscape. The age of this art was evident— Bella could see some signs of wear in places where feet must walk— but even so, there was no loss of beauty as she gazed, bewildered, at the sheer magnitude of it.

"Such work," Edward said gently, kneeling down next to her to touch the tiles. "Such _care._ There are no artists like this left— I don't know where they found the time. But look at the walls… they are even lovelier."

He was not wrong. On the walls, encircling them like an impossible mural, Bella saw the island. There were tiny, glass trees, and great, stone buildings. A capital— much smaller than the one outside now— without its walls of protective stone. A tower of the castle in the distance— _her_ tower, by the looks of it— and a great, sprawling wilderness of jungle, and plains, and mountains. The tiles were immaculate— everything from the finest texture to the most subdued or brilliant colour had been chosen with the utmost care— and Bella felt a curious mistiness in her eyes as she tried to blink it back.

"You admire the art, My Lady," came a voice from the shadows and Bella, startled, wheeled around at once. She stood up from the floor, surreptitiously brushing her hands over her skirt, and smiled sheepishly when she saw the man in the aisle, who presented himself with a low, respectful bow.

The Host offered her his hand and Bella, feeling rather foolish, took it gently. Edward, following close behind, did not seem to mind his sudden displacement.

"Is it to your liking?" asked the Host and Bella, flushing pink, nodded at once. "Is it… _pretty_ enough?"

"It's prettier than I could have ever imagined," said Bella.

The Host beamed at her.

"High praise," he said, bowing over her hand again. "I thank you."

In the beauty of that highest of places, Bella walked with reverent delight through the inlets of rainbow light and colour. She had never seen the like of it— not in the hollows in the woods near her childhood home, not in the churches she'd visited on a trip to Europe. In this place, where the world seemed as vast as the wide, open sky, Bella felt as if she really were close to the heavens, and that alluring, mysterious God she had long sought, but never found. Here, in this palace of light, it was as if all the lovely things in the world had come together, sprinkled like dust to transform, to elevate. This was no mere construction of mortar and stone— this was a sanctuary, where the highest of all things was kept sacred and safe, and Bella, drifting slowly through its arches and aisles, was brought back down to Earth only when she felt Edward's fingers wrapped around her own.

"You're off someplace," he chuckled and Bella's head turned around. He was watching her, an amused, somewhat indulgent grin on his face, and Bella, refusing to feel even the slightest bit of shame, simply smiled back.

"Queen of the Starry-Eyed."

This time, she laughed.

"I've _never_ been any place to rival this," she said again and the Host, delighted by her joy, bowed his head. "Never _ever."_

"Do you know where we are standing?"

Bella, glancing slowly around, shrugged. They stood at the foot of the dais again, in a small semicircle of brilliant white marble, and it was the Host that spoke.

"This is where the ceremony will take place," he said quickly. "This is where you will speak your vows."

At once, the lines she had learned with Esme in the twilight hours came back in a rush. Before her, perfectly at his ease, Edward watched her as if she were a scripted entertainment. The Host stood behind them, a foot higher than normal on the first step of the dais, and to her right were the chairs, suddenly innumerable.

"And the maids…"

"Will stand behind, just there," said the Host at once, gesturing to a nondescript expanse of floor just behind where Bella stood. "The Councilors there…"

Another spot, unmarked.

"And the guests," said the Host quietly. "The right for the King, and the left for yourself."

Bella stared at the chairs on her side of the aisle— at least 100 strong— and frowned.

Edward ducked his head.

"It is of no consequence," he said at once, and Bella, feeling rather foolish shook her head. The Host seemed to realize at once what he had said and he stepped quietly down from the dais, his head hung low.

"My most sincere apologies, My Lady…"

Bella, frowning, shook her head.

"No matter," she said quickly, though her frown did not ease. "It is no matter…"

Edward, suddenly nervous, squeezed her hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing down at the Queen's chairs. He knew as well as she that their occupants would be sparse. Esme and Jasper, as the King's blood family, were required to sit on the opposite side. Emmett, as commander, would take his proper place in the back. Rosalie, maybe, would stand for her, and perhaps her children too, but everyone— from the soldiers, to the staff, to the lowliest scullery maids, who had not even been sent an invitation— would be seated on the opposite side of the room.

"It matters not who is here to watch," said Edward quickly and Bella let him kiss her when the Host looked away. "It matters not who stands for us. We will have our family, Bella. The only family that matters."

"I'm not worried, Edward."

"And if anyone says so much as a word…"

But at once, she put her finger to his lips.

"Hush," she scolded. "Don't talk like that. Not about _this_ , please."

Edward, looking at her with just as much consternation as before, only shook his head.

"I want it to be _right,"_ he said. "I want it to be just what _you_ want."

"It will be," said Bella softly. "It will be, Edward. How could it be anything else in such a place like this?"

Edward sighed, his lips pursed.

"I wish I could bring them here for you," he said quietly and the Host, stepping politely away, disappeared beyond a tall, wooden door behind the dais. "I wish I could bring _your_ people, to cheer you on."

Her twinge of sadness did not show. Her people, she thought. _Her_ people. Charlie, and Jake, and Sue, and Boomer…

And at once, as if by divine inspiration, Bella felt her face go slack.

"What?" demanded Edward at once. "What's wrong?"

She grinned, glancing speculatively at the empty chairs.

"Nothing," said Bella. "Not a single thing."

Edward only frowned again.

"What if…"

Edward waited, allowing her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"What if," she began again, "we _could_ fill those chairs."

"There is no one left."

"There are _plenty_ of people left, Edward," she said quickly. "As you said yourself, those seats are meant for my people. What if we _filled_ them with my people?"

At once, his face went blank.

"You mean…"

"I mean _our_ people," said Bella quickly. "The Island's people. All who matter to me will be on your side of the aisle or standing up here with me. What if we let _our_ people in instead?"

"It has never been done before," said Edward at once but Bella, unperturbed, simply grinned. "The Merchants would claw each other's eyes out to get a chance to sit in."

"No," said Bella quickly, startling herself with the swiftness of her reply. "No, Edward. Not the Merchants."

He stared at her, his face blank.

"Bring the children," she said, her heart throbbing fiercely as she thought of those poor, neglected souls in the center of the city. "Bring the families. The farmers. The tradesmen. Let them all in to see."

"The common folk?" said Edward, astonished and perplexed. "You don't know those people from a hole in the ground, Bella. Why on Earth would you bring them in?"

"Because I will be their Queen," she said, and even through his confusion and concern, he smothered a foolish, wholesome smile. "Because I want them to see me as I am— as a woman, not a God, who wants nothing more than to do right, and who loves their King with such a fierceness that the very notion threatens to set the world ablaze."

This pretty speech, spurring Bella's confidence, seemed to erode the last of Edward's reserve. He grinned at her, shaking his head. She grabbed him tight, her arms wrapping around his middle, and he did not straighten or nudge her away as he might have had the Host been looking. Instead he returned her fervour, letting her drop a kiss to the long expanse of throat that poked from the top of his tunic before he sighed, shivered, and brought his hands up to brush her hair back from her cheek.

"Then so be it," he said softly and Bella, beaming at her success, pressed a kiss to his lips instead. "So be it. We will bring the children, and we will throw open the doors. Emmett will be outraged, once he hears of it. He will have to hire an entire retinue to keep the madness in check."

Bella's laughter, bright and joyful, echoed off the stone.

* * *

Three days hence, on the dawn of a fine, summer morning, Bella woke with the birds in a haze of excitable nerves.

The world was, as yet, quiet. Mist, rolling lazily through the jungles and the fields, rose high enough to touch the sill of her window, which had been closed against the damp. Orange light cascaded through in beams, staining the wooden floor with its warmth and glow. Bella rose from her bed on quiet feet, glancing pensively through the wet, hazy glass.

From where it peeked over the distant, towering hills and trees, Bella watched as the face of the sun rose up to chase away the damp. First orange, and then on to burnished yellow and white, she watched as that great, fiery orb made its slow and careful way around the world, rising like a beacon for this, the most joyful of days. The thought of it gave her a queer, queasy thrill and she breathed in the perfume from the orchid on the sideboard, letting her head rest in her hand.

It was like this that Esme found her, brimming over with her own tears of joy and excitement and Bella, as calm and composed as a bride could possibly be, greeted her with pleasure. Together, they began the rituals that would take her to that Altar of the Gods, where she would pledge herself to her land, and her people, and her husband.

The dawn came and went as Bella gave herself over to her preparations. A bath was drawn, perfumed by sweet oils of lilac and orange blossom, and her hair was washed in two waters. Alice, arriving just as Bella slipped into her thin, breezy undershirt, had brushed her hair first with one comb, and then another, finishing up with the soft horsehair brush that chased away the frizz. Curls were wound, braids were tied off with fine, silvery ribbons, and flowers— delicate, white star-shaped blossoms— were added last.

"You are a very picture," said Esme at once and Bella, rather surprised by her own image in the glass, could say nothing. Alice was as giddy as a girl, bouncing on the balls of her feet so that even her hair seemed to hop, and she pressed an impulsive kiss to her Lady's rosy, bare cheek. There was no makeup in Marolando— the very idea of it had sent Alice into fits of giggles when Bella had tried to explain— but with her high colour and bright eyes, Bella found she did not much miss it. With her hair so carefully done, and her face alight with the glow of anticipation, Bella found that she looked almost _pretty,_ though she never would have dared voice that thought out loud.

The dress came last.

In the flurry of plans that had consumed her over the past weeks, her choice of dress had been rather a conundrum. Bella had never been to a Maronese wedding— indeed, she had barely attended any _American_ weddings, for all they featured in television and films. Edward had been of little help— he knew only what he had seen as a boy, and as a boy, had hardly paid any mind at all to the details of toilet and dress. He did not know how brides arranged their hair, or what style skirt they were expected to wear. He did not know about fabrics and hemlines, or flowers and ribbon, and had greeted any hedging suggestion of hers with an easy, happy agreement.

So when Bella, having sought out a more feminine opinion, had decided on her raiments, it came as a surprise to her when Edward, just two weeks prior, had asked to see it.

" _It's not customary,"_ Bella had laughed, though she had pulled the garment out readily. She had asked for it to be made in white— that, at least, would be familiar to her— and Edward, grinning like a fool when she held it up to show him, had nodded easy approval.

" _You are lovely, Bella,"_ he'd said, and her face has gone as red as a beet. _"Purely lovely."_

" _You'd say the same if I wore a burlap sack."_

" _Probably."_

Bella, feeling rather tremulous, donned the dress with careful attention.

"Lovely," said Esme, fastening a line of tiny buttons along her spine. Alice, head cocked, was eying the hem. "You are lovely, darling. The white just suits."

Only after the dress had been commissioned to a seamstress on Market Street had Bella learned that her choice of fabric was strange.

Maronese women, Bella had learned, did _not_ choose white for their bridal day, as Bella thought normal. Instead, they wore gowns of such exquisite colour and flare that Bella, by contrast, would look quite plain. Esme's dress had been a bright, vivid scarlet. Edward's mother had been married in cloth of gold. Even the farmer's daughters, poor and simple as they were, often donned green, or yellow, or pink— never pale or pastel, but bright like gemstones, glimmering in the sun.

The white, however, did not make Bella worry. Her talk with the seamstress had reassured her that the utmost care would be taken to create her gown in the highest of fashions. The skirt was full— Bella could feel the weight of it settled on her hips— and the top, while fitted, was loose enough to stay cool. She wore sleeves of lace, hand-woven by weavers on the eastern coast, and all along the bodice, sewn in with impeccable stitches in designs of flowers and leaves, were hundreds and hundreds of tiny seed pearls.

The effect was such that Bella, radiant and shining, caught the light in facets and glimmers, and only when Alice added her veil and her flowers did Bella take a good, hard look in the glass.

The effect was magnificent.

"You look like a Queen already," said Alice admiringly, standing back to survey her handiwork. The gauzy veil, held in place with a lovely golden comb embedded with green gemstones, was draped to cover her face. This custom, at least, had not been lost in the translation of cultures. Maronese brides and Americans alike would cover their faces as they entered the sanctified marriage ground, and only when the Host declared her a wife would that veil be lifted.

"Come, Bella," said Esme, leading her away from the glass. "Come away, now. It is almost time to board the carriage, and Marta wants me to check over the girls."

At once, Bella saw Alice's wide, girlish smile disappear behind her own bedroom door.

* * *

In the blazing summer heat, Bella heard the roar as if from underwater.

People— more heads and faces than she had ever seen gathered on the island before— had come out in droves to watch the procession. More than her first ride through the city, which had overwhelmed her with sights and sounds. More than the New Year, which had seen inns and taverns full to bursting. More than seemed possible, given the confines of the city, and all of them for her, the King's Bride.

From her place atop her seat, lofted high out of reach of any grasping hands, Bella gave a shy, quick wave that sent the crowd into a tumult.

She rode in her carriage alone. Her driver— the stable master in a grand, ornate suit— directed a fleet of four handsome blood bays through the narrow, cobbled streets of the city's west end. Around her rode soldiers— six at the front, and six at the rear— and behind them, gathered together in a giddy, giggling carriage of their own, were her girls.

The girls, all combed and scrubbed to the highest perfection, had been put into position by Marta. They had chosen the dresses long ago— green for her eleven newcomers, and a deep, handsome violet for little Alice. All the dresses were new— the girls from City East had revelled in this fact— and they had all been sent to the cobbler for new shoes. Their hair was done in the Northern style— long at the back, with a coronet of braids to keep it off the face— and though the day was hot, they wore the customary silk kid gloves. They, unlike Bella, did not seem meek and shy. They revelled in the glory of the crowd, soaking up each attentive compliment as if they, themselves, were brides, and Bella left them to it, too amused to be anything near cross.

The carriage rolled through streets and alleys, parting crowds that had thronged on the roads. They, desperate for a glimpse of the King's bride, had been turned away from the temple proper. The nearer they got, the more Bella understood why these eager petitioners had been denied— on the stairs, flocking like geese, there was a crowd of a hundred or so, and beyond, in the great domed cathedral, swam a sea of people, all staring eagerly for the merest glimpse of her pale, nervous face.

When the carriage stopped, the noise seemed to rise in a crescendo.

"Princess!" they cried, though that title had never— and _would_ never— belong to her. " _Princess!"_

"A thousand blessings!"

"My Lady!"

"My Queen!"

Bella sat stock-still, just as she knew she must, until the door to her carriage was opened and a white-gloved hand appeared to guide her down.

"My Lady," murmured the unknown soldier, bowing low over her fingers. "A dozen blessings, My Lady."

Before she reached the stairs, holding tight to her bouquet of fragrant flowers, her little ladies scrambled forth from their own carriage. They had been taught just what to do— each knew her role in the line of procession, and each fell into place so swiftly that Bella, thanking the Gods for such quick and eager learners, had barely to say a word. Alice held the end of Bella's train— a most coveted spot in the lineup— and the other little girls flocked around, some touching her skirt, others her veil, and others flanking friends and mistress alike, scattering petals or carrying candles.

High in the bell tower, far above her head, Bella heard the pealing of the great, clanging bell to herald her arrival. Birds, flocking from gutters, flew high into the sky and Bella, without knowing quite how she managed it, ascended the stairs among raucous cheers of blessing and love.

When she reached the small landing at the entrance to the Temple, she felt a steadying hand on her arm, and a quick, friendly squeeze on her hand.

"You've come," said a little voice, teasing. At once, Bella beamed. "And you look just like a very Princess of the blood."

"Thank you, Jasper," said Bella.

"Are you well?"

"Quite."

"All of your nerves still intact?"

"As many as can be hoped for," Bella laughed. "Thank you for doing this."

She felt another squeeze on her hand, which he had hooked through his elbow.

"It's what's right," he said at once. "And it's what's _needed._ "

"I thank you," she said again. "For everything."

The boy beamed over at her— almost _down_ at her— and she held her chin up high.

"We are waiting," he said, leaning low to stop her maids from hearing. "My _brother_ is waiting."

"Then let's not keep him."

Together, arm in arm with the Prince, Bella walked over the threshold of the massive, towering cathedral. Heads, bent to whisper to friends and neighbours, snapped up at once and they stood, as one massive entity, to bow as they walked past. Bella's eyes roved over the crowd— there was Rose, seated in a place of honour near the front, and there were Carlisle and Esme, in the place of Edward's parents. Finn, dressed in his finest, held a handful of petals which, like all the children lining the aisle, he tossed readily onto the path at her feet, grinning so widely that Bella, with a sudden rush of affection, could not help but smile. Her wishes had been honoured: on the King's side, Bella saw many families of noble birth— men in suits with wives and daughters frightfully adorned. The wives of Councilmen, and their sons and daughters, in special seats along the side. There were some wealthy merchants, and traders, and consultants from all corners of the realm, and they all smiled when she passed, her face hidden behind her veil.

On the left, where her people ought to be, Bella saw an entirely different crowd.

A line of young, work-worn women, all in their best, brown frocks, stood at the furthest end of each row of chairs. Besides the front row, which held Bella's few especial guests, these plain, but wondrous faces made up the bulk of the Queen's crowd. The rest of each row, five in total, was made up instead of small mortals with tresses combed and braided, and faces scrubbed to a sweet, pink clean. Some were older— almost grown ups in their own right— but the vast majority were young, and those wondering eyes followed her with such rapt attention that it took her all of thirty steps to look away, facing instead towards the high, tall dais.

Though Bella watched the children, Edward only had eyes for her. He was smiling— a wide, true smile that had been so rare these past few weeks— and this joy was one that reached every corner of his being. He looked his best, dressed in fine black trousers and boots, and a shirt with buttons down the front. His coat of green was most becoming— Bella had never seen him wear anything so ornate before— and his sword, polished to a high, glossy gleam, shone out from the scabbard at his belt. Dressed as he was, it did not seem too big, and he seemed somehow taller, as if he stood a little straighter.

When Jasper reached the end of the aisle, glancing up with a grin at his elder brother, Edward leaned in to buss his cheek before Bella felt her hand released.

"I thank you, Jasper," he said, too low for the crowd to hear. Out on the steps, Bella saw her retinue of guards form a warning circle to keep the noise at bay. Jasper, grinning from ear to ear, said nothing in return.

"I love you," said Edward quickly, as Jasper turned to take his place beside Esme. Bella's maids, arranging her skirts just so, scampered off to find their spots. Opposite, the Council stood, each in their very best, and none with such a smile as Lorenzo, who looked for all the world as if it were his own child's wedding, and not his King's.

When Edward turned to her, his eyes fixed on her face beneath the veil, Bella thought she caught a sudden glimmer in his bright, green eyes.

"And welcome to _you,"_ he said, taking her hands up in his. "A most ardent welcome to you. You look _beautiful,_ Bella. Absolutely beautiful."

And when the host began to speak, Bella thought that she felt just as lovely as she knew he thought her to be.

 **A/N: Thank you for your patience! I know it's been a long time coming. Summer is finally here, which means a break from teaching, but so far, I've been so busy I've had almost no time to write. Thanks for sticking with me!**

 **As always, let me know what you think! I've had an influx of reviews and private messages lately about a number of my stories, and I always love hearing from you (even if I don't always have the time to write a reply).**

 **Note: "P.C.T.", as used in reference to years at the beginning of the chapter, refers to "post common tongue". It is used in Marolando to distinguish between the shift from the old language to the new, about two centuries ago. In my mind, the current year is between 200 and 210 P.C.T.**


End file.
